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FOLLOWING AFTER JESUS. 



% % i m » x i a I 



SUSAN MARIA UNDERWOOD. 
I 



MRS. ELIZA H. ANDERSON. 





PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 

28 CORNHILL, BOSTON. 



, He /It 



Entered, according to Act of congress, in the year 1863, by the 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



STEREOTYPED AT THE 
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. 



ho 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Early Life 5 

II. Becomes a Teacher in Roxbury 11 

III. Efforts to Grow in Grace 15 

IV. A Teacher in East Boston 21 

V. Letters 28 

VI. Her Missionary Spirit 37 

VII. Becomes a City Missionary in Boston 45 

VIII. Experience as a City Missionary 50 

IX. Incidents of the Missionary Work 57 

X. Letters 70 

XI. Narratives of the Poor 78 

X1T. Narratives of the Poor, Continued 91 

XIII. Failing Health .103 

XIV. Voyage to Malaga ill 

XV. Malaga 119 

XVI. Support in Sickness 136 

XVII. The Gospel among the Poor 144 

XVIII. Letters " 155 

XIX. Change of Employment 169 

XX. Writings 179 

XXI. Letters . . 201 

XXII. Extracts from her Journal 221 

XXIII. Her Last Days 238 

(3) 



MEMORIAL. 



CHAPTER I. 

EAULY LIFE. 



The early home of Susan Maria Under- 
wood was in Andover, Massachusetts. She was 
born March 16, 1830. Her father being a 
physician, and Susan his only daughter, she 
early became his companion in riding to visit 
his patients. Her mother, a woman of quiet 
disposition and devoted piety, died while Su- 
san was very young. In the near prospect of 
death, she committed her little daughter to a 
covenant-keeping God, trusting that he would 
sanctify and save her. The life of Susan will 
be a new encouragement to parents to culti- 
vate a cheerful reliance on the divine promises. 

When about seven years old, her mother's 
place was supplied by one whom she soon 
learned to love, and of whom she always spoke 



6 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

with grateful affection. She was also much 
attached to her two younger brothers, and ever 
felt a deep interest in their improvement and 
happiness. A few years later, the family re- 
moved to Hingham, where her father continued 
the practice of his profession. 

In September, 1846, Susan became a mem- 
ber of the Normal School in West Newton. 
At first her thoughts were so much -upon home, 
that she found it difficult to study, or be in- 
terested in those around her. But her affec- 
tionate heart, which clung to the loved ones 
she had left, soon attached itself to those who 
were showing her kindness from day to day. 
Her manner was changed. She writes, "A 
schoolmate said to me one bright morning, ' It 
is a strange thing to see you look so happy ; ' 
but when they know me better, they will find 
it more of a wonder to see me sad." As she 
became interested in her studies, her mind 
awakened to a sense of her deficiencies, and 
she thirsted for knowledge. It is interesting 
to see, in her journals, how rapidly she began 
to think for herself, and to treasure up valu- 
able thoughts. She determined to excel, and 
pressed on resolutely through difficulties and 
discouragements. " Energy ', energy ! " she ex- 
claims ; " would that this might be my watch- 
word/' 



EARLY LIFE. 7 

Her intellect now became thoroughly aroused, 
and there was an increased delicacy of moral 
perception. Instead of ambitiously emulating 
others, she began to seek a preparation for 
usefulness. A sentimental desire for happi- 
ness, that led* her to brood over little annoy- 
ances, gave place to the pleasure arising from 

self-reliance and a benevolent interest in oth- 

i 

ers. While her character was thus being ele- 
vated, there were glimpses of a poetic and 
original genius which afterward gave spright- 
liness and beauty to her life. 

She learned also to control her feelings. 
Early in her course of study she writes, "Why 
is it that some are gifted with talents so much 
above others? Why can one rise in school 
without an effort, and another, whose mind is 
constantly awake to the fulfillment of every 
duty, attain only an inferior station ? But are 
not those wrong who faint because they do not 
see their reward immediately ? Should they 
despair because others are crowned with a 
larger success ? Would it not be nobler to toil 
on without seeking a reward in the praise of 
others, but only in the approbation of their own 
consciences, and the firm conviction that He 
who made them will reward them openly for 
their secret and unwearied efforts ? If I could 



8 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

feel thus when things wear the aspect of gloom, 
how much greater would be the enjoyment of 
life ! When I think of this, ihe following beau- 
tiful verse always occurs to me : — 

» Give me a calm and thankful heart, 

From every murmur free ; 
The blessings of Thy grace impart, 
And let me live to thee.' " 

She adopted the word "try" for her motto, 
and determined, so far as possible, to do right 
and feel right. After being grieved by an un- 
kind remark from a schoolmate, this sentence 
occurs in her journal : " She does not know 
with what determinations for kind words and 
peaceful intercourse I returned to school. She 
never will know. But I will faint not, falter 
not. I will still endeavor to do my duty." 
This was soon *after a visit home in vacation ; 
and she writes, "I had a little touch of my 
old complaint — homesickness ; but business will 
drive it off, I trust ; if it don't, something else 
shall" 

Under date of Sunday, April 18, 1847, she 
writes, " This is the first Sabbath I have spent 
in Newton since vacation. How different from 
the first ones I spent here ! The sacred hours 
then appeared tiresome, showing too painfully 
how ill adapted my mind was to those holy in- 



EARLY LIFE. 9 

fluences. Now, though I am but little, if any, 
better than I then was, this day of rest is the 
pleasantest of all the seven." She found, as 
young people may always do, that her heaven- 
ly Father was ready to bless her in all her 
endeavors to do right. No promise in the Bible 
is more certainly fulfilled than this : " I love 
them that love me, and those that seek me 
early shall find me." 

In her journals are frequent quotations of 
poetry, showing that she was cultivating a taste 
for the good and the beautiful. After copying 
Ware's "Seasons of Prayer," she says, "I love 
poetry, which, like this, lifts the mind from 
its own trifling, and fills it with sentiments akin 
to those of the inspired authors." 

Her home, while at Newton, was in the fam- 
ily of the Rev. Dr. Gilbert. Her father went 
with her to make the necessary arrangements, 
and, when committing his daughter to their 
care, expressed a wish that she might adopt 
their religious views, since his observation, as a 
physician, at death beds had convinced him, 
that what is called evangelical religion is true. 

Mrs. Gilbert says of her, " Even then she 
gave evidence of superior powers, and, by her 
constant endeavors for improvement, gained the 
affection of her teachers, while her ever-ready 



10 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

sympathy and disinterestedness won our hearts. 
She did not think that she was a Christian 
while with us, but was becoming more and 
more impressed with gospel truth. The im- 
pression she received from a conversation my 
husband had with her before she left us, as 
she afterward told me, never left her." 

Another member of the family speaks of her 
rare intellectual endowments, extensive read- 
ing, and fund of ready wit, making her a gen- 
ial companion, and adds, " I do not believe she 
ever lived where they did not love her." 



CHAPTER II. 

BECOMES A TEACHER IN ROXBURY. 

Miss Undebwood became a teacher in one of 
the public schools in Roxbury in the autumn 
of 1847, and continued there the greater part 
of four years. 

March 16, 1850, she makes the following 
entry in her journal : — 

" This is my birthday. For twenty years 
have I been a pilgrim on earth. And now I 
would look back over the past, and within on the 
present. It is a blessed thing thus to review 
the space already trod, and from its varied 
scenes learn lessons for the future. Nor should 
the clouds, which now cast their shadows on my 
spirit, make me forget that the sun has shone, 
and that loving kindness and tender mercies 
have crowned my days. God hath not for- 
gotten to be gracious, though he may lead 
me in a way I know not. In looking far back, 
I recall my little brother's death, my beloved 
mother's grief, my dear father's mourning for 
his child ; and, not long after, my mother's 

(11) 



12 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

death bed, the administration of the sacrament 
by the venerable Dr. Woods, the last embrace 
of that sainted mother as she wound her feeble 
arms around me and pressed me to her bosom, 
my father bowed down with grief, and the fu- 
neral services in the chapel. All these seem 
stamped ineffaceably upon my mind. 

" Three weeks ago to-day, I was summoned to 
my dear father's death bed. He left home, ap- 
parently well, in the morning, and visited his 
patients as usual. While making the last call, 
he put his hand on his chest, and asked for 
water. Before it was brought, he fell upon the 
floor insensible. Two physicians were sent for, 
and every effort made for his relief; but in vain. 
When it became evident that he could not live 
long, I was sent for, and reached home late in 
the evening. Oh, that Saturday ! How pleasant 
the anticipations of it had been ! — M. coming to 
pass the Sabbath, and the Bible class in the 
evening. I was happy without knowing that 
my house was built upon the sand, and that 
the storm was gathering. When I went to my 
dear father's bedside, he said, ' Why, Susan, 
how do you do ? ' Afterward he said, i I am 
very sick ; too sick to talk with you much now/ 
All night he was in great distress. Toward 
morning he looked up, when he felt my tears, 



BECOMES A TEACHER IN ROXBURY. 13 

and said, ' Susan, you will not have a father 
long.' Afterward he called me his ' precious 
child.' The scenes that followed were such as 
one can realize only by passing through them. 
My beloved father lingered until twilight on 
Sunday. He was calm and resigned, and died 
as if sleeping. 

" My happiness must henceforth be built on 
things unseen and eternal. And now, as fades 
the light of my twentieth birthday, let me dedi- 
cate myself renewedly to the service of the Lord 
Jesus Christ. Help me, Lord, to walk hum- 
bly before thee, trusting in thee alone for sal- 
vation. Send thy Holy Spirit to sanctify this 
affliction to my everlasting good. May I live 
as thy disciple. May I guard against sin. 
May I forsake thoughts which thou wouldst 
not approve, and watch earnestly against pride, 
selfishness, and vain glorying. May I guard 
against even the least sin ; especially may I re- 
solve not to say one word against another, nor 
any thing which may give a wrong impression 
— remembering that ' lying lips are an abomi- 
nation to the Lord.' May my path shine more 
and more unto the perfect day." 

Susan now felt that loneliness which they 
only know who are conscious of being fatherless. 
Her thoughts were much on the past. " I am 



14 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

turning over memory's leaves," she says, " and 
reading therefrom the histories of many friends, 
whose places know them no longer." Perhaps 
she indulged in this more than was profitable. 
She sought more for resignation than for sanctifi- 
cation, and for comfort than for usefulness ; but 
she persevered in asking help from God, and, 
though she passed through times of trial and 
darkness, came at last into settled light and 
peace. 

At one period she wrote — '" I desire for my- 
self no more temporal blessings than I now 
have. I am more than satisfied. I try to praise 
God for my condition in life : it is infinitely 
better than I deserve." 



CHAPTER III. 

EFFORTS TO GROW IN GRACE. 

On the 7th of July, 1850, Sftsan united with 
the Eliot Church, in Roxbury, under the pas- 
toral care of the Rev. Dr. Thompson. This 
important step was not taken without due de- 
liberation. She wrote oat in her journal the 
articles of faith and covenant of the church, 
that she might ponder well her obligations. 
From this time, though her advance was more 
rapid, her Christian character did not mature 
without much earnest striving. Young people 
often wish to grow in grace, and be useful, but 
are unwilling to -make the requisite effort. 
Miss Underwood was fully determined to be an 
active Christian. She was not content to walk 
with a hesitating step. Taking the Bible for 
her guide, she sought to live by its teachings, in 
the strength of God. The Saviour had said, 
" Strive to enter in at the strait gate ; " and this 
she sought to do. Finding in God's Word a 
high standard of religious attainments, she re- 
solved to conform her daily life to it as far as 

(15) 



16 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

possible. She set a strict watch over her 
thoughts, words, and deportment, maintaining 
a constant warfare with the different forms of 
sin in her heart. 

Practical lessons may be learned from her 
watchful strictures upon her life. She writes 
thus on her twenty-first birthday : " Lord, 
teach me thyself, and make me not only to 
resolve, but also to do. I desire this year to 
read my Bible more, and, if possible, learn one 
chapter each day. I desire to commence and 
close each day with prayer, and often seek the 
presence of the Lord during the day. I desire 
to have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, that if I 
ask him he will grant me his Holy Spirit. I de- 
sire, at each quarterly payment of my salary, to 
lay aside for benevolent purposes, and an ad- 
ditional sum if any thing be added to my wages. 
I desire to write to all my unconverted friends 
and relatives, and pray earnestly for their salva- 
tion. I desire to avoid all light and trifling 
conversation, <and live as I would wish I had 
done when I come to die." 

In order to gain a more practical knowledge 
of the Word of God, she selected a text every 
day, and often wrote her thoughts upon it. 
Thus she says, " My text for to-day is, 4 Put 
on, therefore, as the elect of God, holy and be- 



EFFORTS TO GROW IN GRACE. 17 

loved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness 
of mind, meekness, forbearing one another, . . . 
and above all, charity.' I find constant need 
of charity. I realize that the apostle's defini- 
tion of it embodies all virtues in one. In an 

interview with , allowed myself to judge 

hastily and censoriously. See a constant dis- 
position in me to attribute evil rather than 
good motives to others. Am far from that 
charity which thinketh no evil. Find it easier 
to appear affectionate than to be so. Is there 
another heart as bad as mine ? Truly can I 
say, that in me dwelleth no good thing." 

At another time: "Attended evening meet- 
ing, and did not enjoy the preaching as much as 
I should, had I not allowed my mind to dwell 
on the different methods pursued by pastors. 
Ought to have received the truth in humility. 
Eead, after going home, the passage, ' Be not 
wise in your own conceit.' Precious Bible ! 
faithful reprover, constant light to those who 
read and ponder." 

Again : " Has every thought to-day been 
pure and lofty, befitting a creature made in 
God's own image, and endowed with capacities 
to distinguish the right from the wrong ? Fear 
I was not quite honest in all I said." 

She often reproved herself for censuring 
2 



18 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

others, and mourned that she was too quick to 
judge of them and of their motives. Humility 
was a grace she loved to cultivate — a lowly 
spirit, that bears contradiction, and rejoices to 
see others exalted. In scrutinizing her con- 
duct, she writes, one evening, " Showed an 
unbecoming forwardness in expressing my opin- 
ion. Would that I could have recalled my 
words. Find it not easy to exercise the grace 
of humility." 

Her constant aim was to order her conversa- 
tion aright. On this point she labored with 
watching and prayer, and thus writes : " World- 
ly conversation blunts the edge of every spiritual 
truth. Spoke unadvisedly this evening. Let 
me remember that the preparation of the heart 
is from the Lord, and seek grace when about 
to engage in conversation, that I may minister 
grace to them that hear." 

"My text for to-day — ' But every man hath 
his proper gift of God.' (1 Cor. 7:7.) For our 
several lots in life God has given us gifts ac- 
cording to our necessity. Each has his proper 
sphere of duty, and each day may witness deeds 
of love and faith that shall result in untold 
good for eternity. The recording angel places 
no trifles upon his page ; for each sinful thought, 
and each holy desire, is mighty in its issues, and 



EFFOBTS TO GROW IN GRACE. 19 

wrought into the texture of this life of ours, as 
surely as the thoughts and plans which we deem 
great." 

Another day : " ' What shall it profit a man 
if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his 
own soul ? ' (Mark 8 : 36.) If I had fully re- 
alized the import of this text, I could not have 
let S. come and pass the afternoon with me, 
without asking about her personal interest in 
the great salvation." 

The Scriptures were to Miss Underwood a 
delight, associated with all that is lovely and 
beautiful. She writes, " Rainy this morning ; 
but soon the clouds disappeared, and the sun 
shone out beautifully. My text, ' The rain is 
over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth ; 
the time of the singing of the birds is come.' 
(Sol. Song 2 : 12.) How beautiful the contrast 
of the sunshine and the storm ! How delightful 
the changing, hurrying clouds, the clear blue 
sky, the green grass, and waving trees ! How 
manifold the mercies and wisdom of God ! 



■ Thou art, O God, the life and light 

Of all this wondrous world I see : 
Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from thee. 
Where'er we turn, thy beauties shine, 
And all things fair and bright are thine. 1 



20 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

As a teacher in the Sabbath school, she was 
conscientious in her duties, not only taking a 
special interest in her own class, visiting them, 
and preparing the lessons herself, but she sought 
the prosperity of the school generally, and at- 
tended the teachers' meetings, looking forward 
to them with interest, as a means of acquir- 
ing knowledge to impart to her scholars. 

She writes, Saturday, August, 1852 : " I 
have left Roxbury, — dear, delightful Roxbu- 
ry, — as a home, probably for ever. I have 
parted with the pupils of that school, so long 
the objects of my solicitude and love. Those 
sweet, confiding, loving children ! I can never 
forget them. The dear friends, the church, 
that faithful minister of Christ, — all have I 
left, in body, but not in spirit. If our faith 
be not vain, we have parted to meet in an end- 
less re-union, free from sin, to enjoy the light 
of that countenance whose loving kindness has 
been better than life." 



CHAPTER IV. 

A TEACHER IN EAST BOSTON. 

In the autumn of 1852, Miss Underwood 
commenced her labors in one of the public 
schools of East Boston, and continued there 
four years. During all that time her home 
was in one family. Those who knew her there 
intimately, speak in the highest terms of her 
uniformly cheerful and amiable deportment, 
of her care never to give unnecessary trouble, 
of her unwearied desire to do good, her un- 
bounded benevolence, and her scrupulous watch- 
fulness in the observance of the Sabbath ; 
showing a beautifully symmetrical Christian 
character in all the details of daily life. Two 
very desirable excellences are especially men- 
tioned. One, an habitual aversion to evil speak- 
ing. On this point she was unwavering. She 
would not even smile, or assent in any way, 
when others were spoken against. Another 
was, her resolute determination not to indulge 
in worldly or unprofitable conversation on the 
Sabbath. Especially was she careful, w T hile 

(21) 



22 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

going to and coming from the sanctuary, that 
nothing should be said which could divert the 
mind from God. 

As a teacher, she was not ambitious to be 
popular, but endeavored patiently and faith- 
fully to fulfill her duties. She desired that her 
scholars should get their lessons well, and un- 
derstand them, rather than be prepared to show 
off at an examination. She sought to bring as 
many as possible under instruction, and to in- 
terest herself in the children individually, in 
order thereby to exert a moral and religious 
influence over them. Her aim was to elevate 
the whole character, and prepare them for use- 
ful stations in society. She visited the families 
of her poorer scholars, endeavoring to encour- 
age the parents in training their children aright, 
and sending them to school regularly. She 
found one poor widowed mother, who by her 
daily labor could only provide food for her 
family. The children were in the street, not 
w-ell enough clothed to attend school, much to 
the grief of the mother. Miss Underwood made 
each of them a suit of clothes, and, knowing 
that the mother, going out early for a day's 
work, could not attend to them properly, she 
had the children come to her every morning ; 
saw that they were washed, combed, and de- 



A TEACHER IN EAST BOSTON. 23 

cently attired for school, and thus lifted them 
up from a state of degradation and probable 
ruin. 

In another case a man had been killed by 
an accident ; and the wife and mother, plunged 
at once into poverty and sorrow, asked, " What 
can I do ? " Miss Underwood stood by her 
as a friend, and said, " Take the first employ- 
ment that is offered ; I will try to get for you 
the care of the school house." " But," said 
the desponding woman, " I never made a fur- 
nace fire in my life ; I don't know how to begin." 
Miss Underwood replied, " I will teach you;" 
and she was true to her word. She obtained 
the employment for the poor woman, and went, 
on several cold mornings, to show her how to 
make the fire and take care of the school 
house. 

This poor woman recently called on the 
writer, saying that she could talk all day of 
Miss Underwood's kindness. She had four 
children dependent on her, was completely 
crushed by her bereavement, and about to give 
up all hope of helping herself, when the kind 
teacher called to see her, and encouraged her 
to persevere, and trust in God. " How often she 
said to me, 'Keep up heart; a brighter day is 
coming.' She helped me prepare my children 



24 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

for school, saw that they attended regularly, 
and, whenever I came to a strait, lifted the bur- 
den from my heart, till, from earning only fifty 
cents a week, we now have enough to live com- 
fortably ; and all under God, owing to her 
kindness." 

These things interest us as we read them ; 
but there is no poetry in the practical detail of 
these humble duties. It is only those who live 
by principle, according to the precepts of the 
gospel, that really do these things. It requires 
character and energy, as well as enlightened 
piety, to carry such plans through. We call 
these humble duties. By what name will they 
be called in heaven? When our Saviour, the 
Lord of glory, was on earth, he performed such 
labors. He healed the sick, fed the hungry, 
spoke kindly to children, comforted the widow, 
reclaimed the wandering, and said to the wo- 
man who had been a sinner, " Go in peace." 
Those who knew Miss Underwood best have 
said that she never seemed satisfied if a day 
passed without doing some special act of kind- 
ness, or relieving some one in distress. After 
spending the day in school, she w r ould go to 
some neglected neighborhood, and visit from 
house to house, perhaps calling at the homes 
of her poorer scholars, perhaps reading to some 



A TEACHER IN EAST BOSTON. 25 

sick or aged person, who needed consolation. 
Her eye was quick to see, and her heart to feel 
for those in distress. Sometimes she would 
find an invalid alone, and lay aside her bonnet 
and shawl, to make a cup of tea, or a bowl of 
gruel. She would raise the poor sufferer into a 
chair, make the bed, and arrange the few arti- 
cles in the room, so as to give it an air of com- 
fort ; talking meanwhile, in a soothing, cheerful 
strain, of the goodness of God, of the privilege 
of trusting in him, and how surely he would 
abide with those who seek his favor. She was 
like an angel of mercy to many a lonely one, 
and her face radiant with heavenly love. 

At the same time she was a devoted Sabbath 
school teacher, and a very thorough tract dis- 
tributor. Of this work she writes as follows : 
" Commenced at the extremity of my tract dis- 
trict, going into every house, or talking with 
the head of each family at the door. Was 
greatly encouraged. Had several interesting 
interviews. Calling on a woman whose house 
was in striking contrast with many I saw, — it 
was so neat and orderly, — I inquired how she 
was, and if she needed any thing. ' Now that 
you have asked me,' she replied, 4 1 will own 
to you I have nothing under the roof of this 
house to eat.' She was old, and the look of 



26 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

sincerity upon her face convinced me that she 
spoke the truth. If ever I was happy in having 
the means of relieving want, it was then. I 
felt unworthy of enjoying the luxury ; for such 
it certainly seemed. 

" In reading my chapters to-day, I was im- 
pressed with the willingness of the people of 
Israel to bring their offerings as God com- 
manded, for the building of the tabernacle. 
Find new and clearer thoughts the more I 
read the sacred word. March 16, 1855 : My 
birthday. My texts for to-day, ' We, then, that 
are strong, ought to bear the infirmities of the 
weak.' S Considering thyself, lest thou also be 
tempted.' fc Who art thou that judgest ? ' Ke- 
solved, through the aid of the Spirit, to medi- 
tate on these words. One thing do I desire of 
the Lord — the victory over sin, the abased 
spirit, the resolute will, grace to win souls. 
Henceforth let this be my controlling purpose." 
After visiting a sick girl, she writes, " She 
thanked me for the little book I sent her, and 
for my interest in her spiritual welfare. Ac- 
cording to my work has been my reward. Again 
let me record, the Lord is faithful. Whatever 
I undertake for Jesus' sake, obstacles vanish 
as I press on." 

It will be remembered that, as a teacher, she 



A TEACHER IN EAST BOSTON. 27 

was under no special obligation to perform these 
benevolent labors. Her performance of them 
arose from studying the character of the Sa- 
viour, and trying to live as he lived. She was 
ready to make sacrifices to oblige others, and 
found an exalted happiness in such a life. She 
valued the enjoyment of carrying fruit, or some 
simple delicacy, to a. poor invalid ; and when 
her gifts were pleasantly received, and afforded 
comfort to others, no personal luxury could 
have yielded half the joy. 



CHAPTER V. 

LETTERS. 
East Boston, September 17, 1852. 

My dear M. : You and I have changed 
localities since we last met ; and happy for us 
that, in changing homes, we do not necessarily 
change friends. Happy for us that we have one 
Friend, who is never left behind, who is ac- 
quainted with all our past, our present, and our 
future condition, and touched with a feeling of 
our infirmities, to whom we may have constant 
access. In him believers are one, each a mem- 
ber of the same body. 

" You speak, in your last, of doubts and spir- 
itual darkness. I understand you, for I have 
had the same. Is not this because that, though 
we have publicly given ourselves away to God, 
yet we continually suffer our wills to rise up in 
opposition to his, allow murmuring thoughts 
against the sphere of labor which he appoints 
us, and all the while forget that we are acting 
falsely. Do we never think more of our own 
ease and personal affairs, than of the glory of 

(28) 



LETTERS. 29 

God and the interests of the Redeemer's king- 
dom ? How much more concerned are we as to 
what others say of us, than what they say of 
Christ. Travelers to eternity, our journey, at 
the longest, must soon end, and the great ques- 
tion should be, Am I doing all I can for that 
precious Friend, in whose presence I long to 
dwell for ever ? I feel that I am too apt to 
think, like Naaman, that little things are too 
trifling to weigh* much, for good or ill, and that 
I would rather do some great service. In short, 
Pharisee-like, I would be making some good 
works stepping stones to heaven. But this is 
exalting self to be admired, and forgetting that 
it is the Vale of Humiliation through which I 
must pass to the Celestial City. It is because we 
have no righteousness of our own, that the well- 
beloved Son of God became a surety for us. 
Let us never forget this ; and remember, tooj 
that the daily duty, however simple, and, to the 
eyes of the world, however easy, is the very best 
work for us to be doing, and doing well. Are 
there no spare hours, now spent in light reading 
and unprofitable conversation, that might be de- 
voted to meditation and prayer ? Are there no 
souls for whom we ought to wrestle in secret ? 
From such seasons of heart-searchings shall we 
not go forth strengthened, to speak a word in 



80 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

season to those who carelessly tread the road to 
death ? The feeblest light may be trimmed so 
as to guide some benighted one toward the 
place where the true Light shineth. 

I must refer a little to my health. It is not 
very sound, and a little exposure and exertion 
bring on a weakness, sometimes soreness of 
the lungs and hoarseness. I have had many 
thoughts, this summer, that I am not to be 
wholly well again. . . . 

There is a passage in our Saviour's interces- 
sory prayer, where he says, " 0, righteous 
Father, the world hath not known thee." That 
opens a chink in the clouds of earthliness, 
through which I catch a glimpse of what glory 
and excellence belong to God. What emotions 
will those be, when we shall no longer know in 
part, but even as we are known ! I speak not 
in confidence here, in saying " we shall ; " for, 
when I consider myself and that glory, I fear 
that I shall never enjoy it. As the excellence 
of the heavenly inheritance is more clearly com- 
prehended, the more do I fear its loss. The 
past week has been one of peculiar spiritual 
conflict, and my heart's language is well ex- 
pressed by David, when he exclaims, " All thy 
waves and thy billows have gone over me." 
And then the passage has been often in mind, 



LETTERS, 31 

" Who is among you that . . . walketh in dark- 
ness, and hath no light, let him trust in the name 
of the Lord, and stay upon his God." 

Only think, we have not met since last May. 
Though traveling different pathways, under dif- 
ferent discipline, meeting different friends, yet I 
hope at last we shall be brought to our Father's 
house above, where all the way may be re- 
counted in the leisure of eternity. Then may 
it be found that we, by our prayers and com- 
munion here, have aided each other's progress 
to so glorious a consummation. 

Yours, affectionately, Susan. 

East Boston, March 21, 1855. 

My dearly loved E. : Your dear mother 
has lately been sorely afflicted in the death of 
her father. What a dying world is this ! Life 
has appeared to me much, of late, as when we 
approach the quiet sunset hour, — " the day far 
spent, the night at hand ; " and the duties of 
life resolving into these two soul-stirring efforts, 
" winning Christ," and " winning souls." 

The thought of my responsibility and duty, at 
times, almost overwhelms me. The remem- 
brance of the agony of Christ in the contempla- 
tion of his sufferings, the cross, the triumph 



32 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

over death, hell, and the grave, came be- 
fore me, in one of those seasons, as a glorious 
type of the believer's walk and conflict. First, 
the submissive, willing spirit, then the cross ; 
afterward, the joy. But, oh, I find it easier to 
write Christ than to live Christ. Do you ask 
what I am doing? what I am reading? I still 
teach on, with some steps gained on former 
years. I have great reason for gratitude, that 
so many mercies abound in my lot, in friends, 
ample remuneration, religious privileges, and 
opportunities for usefulness. A quiet home, 
and a pleasant one, health, and, more than all, 
the way ever open to the mercy seat. 

I have read much of " Baxter's Saints' Rest," 
which I think has been profitable to me ; also, 
" Edwards on Redemption," " Lady Huntington 
and her Friends," " The Better Land," by Mr. 
Thompson, some in Miss Bremer's " Homes in 
the New World," and am reading, at pres- 
ent, Mr. Clark's book on Heaven. Have read 
part of " Wesley's Life," " Letters of Henry 
Martyn," and " Memoirs of Dr. Judson." 

It shows her great industry, that, with her 
duties in the public school, Sabbath school, visit- 
ing the poor, and attending to all the demands 
of social life, she still found so much time for 



LETTERS. 33 

reading. And that she was no superficial 
reader, her frequent reference to books plainly 
shows. She not only read, but thought much 
of what she read. She seemed always to keep 
before her some bright example, as an incentive 
to usefulness. In one of her journals she 
mourns over a neglect of duty, and writes, 
" Let me remember McCheyne, Edwards, 
Brainard, Whitefield, and the Wesleys, and 
then look within, around upon the perishing, 
and above to my injured Lord." 

Miss Underwood was so unobtrusive in her 
various plans of doing good, and studied sim- 
plicity so carefully, that many who became ac- 
quainted with her were surprised to find, under 
that plain exterior, such valuable traits of char- 
acter. In one case, a person who sat near her 
in church, and saw nothing very interesting in 
her appearance, was led to observe her more 
closely, by noticing that she always gave some- 
thing in the collections for benevolent objects, 
and not unfrequently a bank bill. On learning 
more of her, much was found to respect and ad- 
mire ; and the impression continually deepened, 
that she was one of those few who live above the 
world, avoiding every thing that would attract 
attention, but uniformly wearing " the orna- 
3 



84 SUSAN ME. UNDERWOOD. 

meat of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in 
the sight of God, of great price." 

One of the characteristics of Miss Underwood 
was perseverance in well doing. She was sure 
to carry through whatever plan she began. If in- 
terested in a poor family, she looked after them, 
not once, but continually, till they were in cir- 
cumstances to sustain themselves. 

Doubtless much that is done for the poor is 
of little avail, from a want of just such perse- 
verance and patience. Isolated acts of kind- 
ness and impulsive generosity do good for the 
time ; but to take one family, and help them 
through years of discouragement, or sickness, or 
special misfortune, and leave them pecuniarily 
and spiritually established, is like doing a life 
work, and the reward is a hundred fold. Often 
a family suffer a series of misfortunes, and those 
who undertake to help them become discouraged, 
and leave them to buffet the waves alone, or 
sink in the deep waters. They lose their nine- 
teen efforts, when the twentieth would have 
made all secure. Our friend showed us a more 
excellent way. 

Plain dress is often thought to indicate a want 
of taste and refinement ; but not unfrequently 
a person who dresses in a simple, inexpensive 
style, possesses those qualities in a high de- 



LETTERS. 35 

gree. In connection with them we discern a 
tender, benevolent heart, an enlightened con- 
science, and graces of the spirit in beautiful 
proportion, upon which God looks with great 
delight. This plainness is not unfrequently the 
result of much self-denial, for the sake of making 
others happy. It was so with Miss Underwood, 
She studied to adorn herself " in modest ap- 
parel, with shamefacedness and sobriety, not 
with broidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or cost- 
ly array, but, which becometh women professing 
godliness, with good works." Had she consulted 
her own gratification, rather than adherence to^ 
duty, she would have taken a different course. 
Let us hear her own testimony on this subject : 
" Something was said which led me to think 
that I appeared old-fashioned in my dress. It 
was accidental, but I felt it. I had supposed I 
was so attired as not to cause remark. I 
thought of heaven, where the fashion of this 
world shall for ever have passed away, and of 
the robe of righteousness, which our Lord has 
wrought, which shall be the admiration of all 
the saints." At another time, when some re- 
mark had been made respecting her personal 
appearance, she said, "It is well for me to 
remember, that it is my heavenly Father's will 
that I should not be specially attractive in 



36 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

countenance. Strange vanity that would have 
it otherwise." Here we see the chastened 
spirit cheerfully accepting the will of her heav- 
enly Father, and looking forward to those higher 
adornments, prepared in heaven for those who 
persevere in well doing. " He that overcorneth, 
the same shall be clothed in white raiment ; and 
I will not blot out his name out of the book of 
life, but I will confess his name before my Fa- 
ther, and before his angels." (Rev. 8 : 5.) 

While in East Boston she enjoyed the happi- 
ness of living for others, and found, as she has 
written, that according to her work was her 
reward. She received encouragement, to(v 
from her pastor and Christian friends, and the 
years passed profitably. She laid up treasures 
in heaven while scattering blessings around her 
here. 



CHAPTER VI. 

HER MISSIONARY SPIRIT. 

Miss Underwood left East Boston in the 
summer of 1856, and soon after made arrange- 
ments to go to the West, under the care of the 
Board of National Popular Education, of which 
the Hon. William Slade was corresponding sec- 
retary. While attending the usual course of 
preparatory instruction in Hartford, with others, 
under the charge of Miss White and Mrs. Ban- 
nister, her remarkable fitness for the foreign 
missionary work was noticed by these ladies ; 
and as a teacher was needed for a female board- 
ing school in Madura, India, it was proposed 
to her that she should go out witli Eev. Wil- 
liam B. Capron and wife, then preparing to 
sail for that mission. 

The manner in which she received the prop- 
osition made a deep impression on her friends. 
She had long before heard the voice of her 
Lord, saying, " Go work in my vineyard," and, 
with a cheerful spirit, was prepared to obey 
that voice, whatever might be the particular 

37) 



38 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

field designated for her. She was willing to 
teach in New England, in the far west, or in 
a heathen land. Her only wish was to know 
her duty. She sought counsel from judicious 
friends, and still more from her heavenly 
Friend, and, after much deliberation, and many 
fears as to her qualifications, offered her- 
self to the American Board as a missionary 
teacher, and received an appointment to the 
Madura mission in September of the same year. 
Some extracts from letters written by friends 
at that time, with reference to her qualifica- 
tions for this work, may not be uninteresting 
to the reader. A lady who had had long ex- 
perience in teaching, and from habits of close 
observation was quick to discern character, 
wrote thus : — 

" She is one of those rare persons who see 
what is to be done, and set themselves to do it 
as naturally as they breathe, and, when they 
have done it, do not look for either praise or 
thanks. She has good common sense, an obli- 
ging disposition, and earnest piety. By her 
study of the Bible she has gained knowledge 
and mental discipline. In past times her 
views of the state of our fallen race, and of her 
personal responsibility, tended to depress her 
spirits, and she had seasons of sadness. But 



HER MISSIONARY SPIRIT. 39 

within the past year she has found that the 
more she obeyed the precept of our Saviour, 
' Abide in me,' her spirits have been more buoy- 
ant, and more uniformly cheerful." 

Rev. Dr. Thompson, of Roxbury, her former 
pastor, thus commended her : " Her religious 
exercises were of more than usual depth, and 
her Christian character, so far as I have had 
opportunity to know, has more than usual 
strength and consistency. Conscientious love 
to the Saviour, and a desire to be useful, 
are strongly developed. To the best of my 
knowledge, she is more than usually frank, 
amiable, and kind, warm in her attachments, 
diligent, and patient." 

g When Miss Underwood had received her 
appointment, she calmly set herself to prepare 
for going to India. Many of her friends will 
remember the humble, cheerful, earnest spirit 
with which she entered upon this task. Her 
"outfit," which must necessarily occupy much 
time and thought, she began to get ready in a 
business-like way, as something which must be 
done, while the preparation of the mind and the 
heart demanded her first attention. She en- 
deavored to gain a knowledge of the country 
and of the people in Madura, to qualify her- 
self for the duties before her, so as to make 



40 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

the most of her talents in this new sphere of 
labor. 

But a trial more severe than any active labor 
was laid upon her. Her eyes became so dis- 
eased as to cause serious apprehensions lest the 
plans in which she had become so intensely 
interested might be disappointed. Yet, in a 
spirit of cheerful trust, through many embar- 
rassments, she persevered in her preparation ; 
and the ladies in East Boston, with great kind- 
ness, relieved her very much in the expense and 
care of providing her outfit. 

While in Hartford, Miss Underwood wrote 
the following letter: — 

Tuesday, August 19, 18-56. 

My dear Mother: I have taken the first 
moment I can spare to write you. Well has it 
been for me that I have been much employed, 
for I could hardly have borne the separation 
from you with much fortitude, if I had sat down 
alone and dwelt upon it. The light of many a 
New England home is shedding her gentle radi- 
ance here, and I am sure many prayers daily 
ascend in our behalf. Saturday night I did not 
feel well, nor Sunday. I shed many tears — 
they would come in spite of me. 

On the morning after I came, as I stood alone 



HER MISSIONARY SPIRIT. 41 

on the steps, looking on the beautiful picture 
spread out before me by the Great Artist, an 
aching sense of what I had left behind filled 
my heart. Our kind preceptress came out, and, 
laying her hand on my shoulder, said, " You feel 
quite alone — do you ? " She added some com- 
forting words ; but all day long thoughts of 
home came over me like waves of the sea. But 
it is not so now ; nor have I in any moment 
regretted the step I have taken. We have every 
advantage we could ask in the way of good 
instruction, and I have reason for gratitude 
that I have been enabled thus far to maintain 
so good a standing in my class. Will you be- 
lieve it, I have not yet looked at yours, father's, 
or either of the boys' likenesses. Some quiet 
time I shall drop a tear over them ; but, re- 
member, a tear of love, not of regret, that I 
am here. I hope none of this will enter my 
heart, and that I shall have grace to be humble, 
truthful, watchful, and self-sacrificing toward 
my associates. Now, dear mother, good night. 
Remember, I have all and more than I need of 
this world's goods ; yet the dear ones left behind 
are dear still. My heavenly Father designed 
you all should be cherished in my heart. 

The following note was addressed to one of 



42 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

the ladles engaged in instructing the class of 
teachers : — 

Hartford, 1856. 

Dear Mrs. B. : I thought it might gratify 
you to know the following fact- in regard to 
those physiologies you so kindly procured for 
us. I always liked the study ; yet it is now 
about nine years since I have studied it. When, 
therefore, I began it again, a day or two since, 
I found myself conscious of emotions very dif- 
ferent from those I had experienced before. 
The thought of the goodness and wonderful 
skill of the Maker of these bodies affected me 
to tears. I do feel that the illumination of the 
Holy Ghost, which I hope I have known, was 
the reason of these new emotions ; and I can 
feel, with the excellent Mr. Newton, " -I am not 
what I was, I am not what I wish to be ; but, 
by the grace of God, I am what I am." 
Very respectfully, yours> 

S. M. Underwood. 

Her eyes were in such a state that she wrote 
very little for a year or two ; but a few extracts 
are given from letters written in 1856 and 1857. 

Hingham, November 28, 1856. 

My dear Miss W. : . . . I went to the 
meeting of the American Board at Newark, and 



HER MISSIONARY SPIRIT. 43 

though, like Christian, burdened with a sense 
of indwelling sin, I hope I obtained some faint 
view of the cross, which afforded me relief. The 
missionary prayer meetings and the commu- 
nion service were, to many souls, the border 
land of heaven. " Here they were within sight 
of the city they were going to ; also here met 
them some of the inhabitants thereof, for in this 
land the shining ones commonly walked, be- 
cause it was upon the borders of heaven." 

I am under the care of Dr. Jeffries for the 
cure of my eyes. He wishes me to use them 
as little as possible. So, like a ship in the dock 
for repairs, I must be still and wait. I ask 
your prayers, that I may not thwart by self- 
will the gracious work designed. This inter- 
ruption of plans seems to many like an end of 
them ; but is not God wonderful in working ? 
And though he brings his Israel to -a Eed Sea, 
though the enemy is at hand to dishearten, and 
to the eye of sense help seems hopeless, yet a 
way is made through the swelling waves, and 
safe on the other side they sing of deliverance. 

After several months of alternating between 
hope and fear, Miss Underwood's physician gave 
the opinion that it would not be safe for her to 
go to India; and she yielded to the manifest 



44 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

indications of Providence, and resigned her 
appointment. 

This disappointment was a painful one — prob- 
ably the greatest of her life. To the ears of 
friends she seldom uttered her complaints, or 
told her discouragements; but, bowing low at 
the foot of the cross, she poured out all her 
sorrow, and found heavenly aid and sympathy, 
quietness, and peace. 

She went on board the ship at the time those 
missionaries sailed who were to have been her 
companions. When a friend afterward asked 
her of her feelings, she replied, " I was enabled 
to appear calm, but no one knows the conflict 
there was in my heart." 



CHAPTER VII. 

BECOMES A CITY MISSIONARY IN BOSTON. 

It was the privilege of Deacon Andrew Gush- 
ing, himself a city missionary, first to suggest to 
Miss Underwood that a field of Christian labor 
was open before her, in a similar capacity, in 
Boston. She received the suggestion as from 
Christ, and devoted herself to that work with 
alacrity, looking to him for all needed grace. 
Whatever she did for the poor she regarded 
as being done for her Saviour, and by her 
gentle manners and tender sympathies she se- 
cured at once their confidence and love. They 
felt that she was their friend ; for, like her 
Master, she came not to be ministered unto, 
but to minister. She was eyes to the blind and 
feet to the lame, and the cause which she knew 
not she searched out ; while her associates in the 
work ever honored her as the disciple who was 
nearest to Jesus. 

She commenced these arduous labors in Oc- 
tober, 1857. Her first step was to go over 
the district assigned her, and obtain, as far as 

(45) 



46 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

possible, a knowledge of the families, inquiring 
into their circumstances, employments, and re- 
ligious connections. She made a careful record 
of each family, and then, with all her heart and 
strength, devoted herself to their good. She 
found in their humble dwellings some hidden 
ones, with whom she took sweet counsel ; some 
mothers in Israel, whose words and smiles cheered 
and quickened her own spirit ; some bright-eyed, 
loving children, whose young hearts warmed 
hers ; some aged and infirm ones, to whom she 
administered comfort in various ways ; some 
sick and suffering, with whom, after the labors 
of the day were over, she would watch through 
the night. She found, also, the idle, the self- 
indulgent, the bigoted, and the vicious. But, 
with great patience, she tried to adapt her in- 
structions to every case, and to relieve suffering 
as far as possible. Many long walks she took 
to obtain clothing and get children into school ; 
going with them herself, to interest teachers 
in their welfare. She clothed many, that they 
might attend public worship, and often called 
on individuals, to accompany them to the sanc- 
tuary, or the evening prayer meeting. Very 
frequently she found work for poor mothers, 
and places for their children, that they might 
honestly earn their bread. She distributed 



BECOMES A CITY MISSIONARY IN BOSTON. 47 

Bibles and tracts, books and periodicals, trying 
to quicken the intellect and improve the heart. 
But the most difficult duty, and that which oc- 
casioned the greatest solicitude, was to commu- 
nicate suitable religious instruction. Over not a 
few she was permitted to rejoice as returning 
prodigals. Some long refused to listen, who 
were at length won by her persevering kindness. 
At times her heart sunk within her at the over- 
whelming poverty, suffering, and degradation 
which she witnessed ; but, instead of yielding to 
discouragement, she sought, by prayer and read- 
ing the divine promises, to obtain strength for 
her toils and trials. She spared neither time 
nor labor. A long walk, or a driving storm, 
never hindered Miss Underwood. If she found 
a poor girl with weak eyes, she went in person 
to procure her admission into the infirmary ; 
if a poor boy, with a deformed foot, she would 
go from one shoemaker to another to get some- 
thing he could wear with comfort. If a poor 
woman was sick, and might recover with suita- 
ble nursing, a free bed in the hospital was 
applied for. If a poor, consumptive invalid 
was found, with parched lips and few comforts, 
she would at once call on some one able and 
disposed to give, and with her own hands carry 
the gifts which she obtained. Very many fam- 



48 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

ished and feeble ones have been nourished by 
the wholesome food she thus supplied. 

Often these labors and visits were a means 
of grace to herself. We find records like the 
following : " Had a profitable talk with Mrs. 
H. — profitable to me. She always gives me 
more than I impart ; a kind of place of refresh- 
ment by the way, such as the Lord provides for 
weary pilgrims. Love is not a stranger in the 
homes of the lowly, though some other graces 
may be. . . . Pound Mrs. E. much im- 
proved in condition. She bears testimony to 
the goodness of God in supplying her wants in 
many and striking ways. So all over the world 
may memorial-stones be set up to record the 
loving kindness of the Lord." 

After a day of visiting and serving others, 
instead of taking credit to herself, she records, 
" An unprofitable servant. Am tired of my 
superficial working." At another time, after a 
disappointment, " Perhaps I have been proud 
in view of my recent successes, and need hum- 
bling ; if so, let me welcome the discipline." 
Once, having been deceived as to the character 
of an individual, she writes, " Has not my good- 
ness often been like the morning dew, that 
vanishes away ? " 

Then, again, she records her mercies : " Mr. 
L. gave me a book: ' Safe Home' is the com- 



BECOMES A CITY MISSIONARY IN BOSTON. 49 

forting title. It is so pleasant to receive such 
kind tokens ! I feel as if the Lord was the giver ; 
and how does my cup overflow with blessings 
for mind, soul, and body!" At another time, 
" Deacon S. gave me some money for poor 
Betsey B. ; and what pleased me very much, he 
gave me a book, ' The Memoir of Kev. D. T. 
Stoddard.' It seemed to come from the Lord's 
hands, because it is such a treasure to me." 
Again : "Mr. D. kindly gave me grapes, to carry 
to any who might be sick. I took bunches of 
them to several persons ; and though they were 
not grapes of Eshcol, they had a savor of a 
goodly land, where I hope the kind giver is to 
dwell hereafter. How pleasant these little mer- 
cies must appear in his sight who deigns to 
note the sparrow's fall ! " She mentions, with 
gratitude, many persons by name, on whom she 
felt at liberty to call, when urgent cases of 
want occurred. Her gratitude seemed stronger 
and richer than if the favors had been done to 
herself; for she rejoiced with them that God 
had given not only the means, but also the heart, 
to do good. In one of these calls for assistance, 
she says, " Spent an hour with Mrs. D. It was 
a quiet and profitable hour to me. Like a 
ship putting in for supplies, I need to draw 
from gracious hearts some of their store." 
4 



CHAPTER VIII. 

EXPERIENCE AS A CITY MISSIONARY. 

Let us go out with her, one summer's morn- 
ing, on her daily round of duties. " A bright, 
warm morning, too warm to be pleasant to 
visit an old, wooden house, with its lower floor 
submerged in the green, slimy tide. But those 
two bright children, who live there, wish to 
go to Sabbath school, and have no clothes. 
Some one must see about them. So I go up 
the old stairs, and scanning the dirty rooms to 
find a place where my dress will get soiled the 
least, I sit down in an old, rickety chair, to lay 
away in memory a list of the articles needed. 
A hint or two to the mother about trying to 
make the room look more inviting, a word to 
the children, and, like a bird, I escape to breathe 
again the pure, refreshing west wind. 

" An hour or two later, I go up two flights 
of stairs, to see the mother of little Johnny, 
the deformed boy. She is away, but Johnny is 
there. I take him upon my lap, and tell him 
of God, who made, and of Jesus, who loves him. 

(50) 



EXPERIENCE AS A CITY MISSIONARY. 51 

There is always a thoughtful look upon his face, 
but never more so than now, as his dark, full 
eye looks up to mine, and then away to the 
distant hills. Pointing to them, I ask him if he 
would not like to be among the waving grass 
and flowers. Then I tell him of the more beau- 
tiful, the better land, and of heavenly fields, 
where holy children walk. As I rise to leave, 
he goes and sits down quietly in his little arm- 
chair. If a lamb in the great Shepherd's fold 
has been fed, the humble service has not been 
in vain. 

" The day draws to a close ; but that poor 
widow, with a diseased child, should be visited. 
So I pass down her yard. What a pretty one 
it is ! The old-fashioned country flowers, sway- 
ing with the breeze, make me think of home ; 
and the newly-blossomed sweet pea, lifting its 
graceful head by the door, thrills me with the 
memory of by-gone days, when just such flowers 
bloomed in gardens where I played. If I may 
but bring one new-born soul into the Lord's 
garden, how, in time to come, will its opening 
graces awaken a kindred, yet more heavenly 
joy ! As I enter the widow's single room, which 
serves for chamber, parlor, and kitchen, I notice 
an involuntary expression of surprise and pleas- 
ure, and a warm pressure of the hand assures 



52 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

me that I am welcome. But soon observing the 
young girl in tears, I ask if she is not well. 
6 As well as usual/ the mother replies. But her 
face is flushed, and the tears fall fast upon her 
work, as she says, ' My heart is full-' Mary 
draws her little stool up to her mother's side, 
and says, in a somewhat broken voice, ' Mother 
feels that she loves God ; but I don't feel that I 
do, and I want to. I have always been with 
mother, all my life, and I don't want her to go 
to heaven without me. I want to go too.' 
' "Well, my dear child, no one wants her to go 
without you. The Lord Jesus himself would 
rather you would come too.' ' But how shall I 
get to heaven ? That's what I want to know. 
What is it to believe ?' Here, then, was the old 
question, which trembling hearts have asked 
ever since the days of the Philippian jailer. 
It is responsible, but blessed, to answer the in- 
quiry, and point, with a full heart, to the Lamb 
of God, who taketh away the sin of the world. 
1 Oh, blessed science ! — to win souls to God,' my 
pastor used to say. After conversing some 
time with the child, the mother said, Q I. have 
had such a blessed experience this afternoon ! 
Soon after noon, I came home, quite tired, from 
Mr. B.'s, where I had been working. Mary 
was asleep ; and, cast down as I was, I thought it 



EXPERIENCE AS A CITY MISSIONARY. 53 

would do me good to read a little in the book 
you brought me last week. I read several 
chapters ; and, oh, I can not tell you what a 
sweet revelation of the Lord was made to me. 
I was so sweetly subdued ! I felt that it was 
not only all right that he had brought me to 
this strait, but I rejoiced to have it so. I was 
wishing you could only come in, and know what 
a blessing it was that you ever came at all ; and 
when I saw you, I could not speak, it seemed so 
wonderful. It seemed as if the Lord sent you.' 

" In the prayer offered when two of us were 
entering upon our new field of labor, last fall, 
I remember there was this petition : ' Go thou 
before them, Lord, and prepare the way.' This 
was not the first time I had remembered it. 
May it receive continued answers to the end of 
my missionary life, and, at last, the dark valley 
itself bear witness, that He who loveth us lov- 
eth us to the end, and the everlasting song be, 
' Not unto us, not unto us, but unto thy name 
give glory, for thy mercy and for thy truth's 
sake.'" 

Many days presented, however, a contrast to 
this. Sometimes her heart was oppressed with 
the poverty that abounded so beyond her power 
to relieve ; and one day, after visiting several 
poor families, she says, " Went home to gather 



54 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

courage for new tales of destitution, feeling that 
I could bear no more then." 

" My text for to-day was, ' Prom whence can 
a man satisfy these with bread ? ' " Of one poor 
woman she says, " Peel, when talking with her, 
that I am rowing against wind and tide." Of 
a poor girl, " My plans for her all lay in ruins. 
My faith is like smoking flax." Of two poor 
families, " A deadly feud exists between them. 
What dirt, what confusion reign there, with evil 
thoughts, words, and blasphemies ! Can the 
Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his 
spots ? Let me have faith and grace. My work 
is too great for me ; it leads me into waters 
which are beyond my depth. Called on Mr. W. 
He is very sick, and ready to converse on re- 
ligious subjects; but, alas ! there is no sight yet 
either of his sins or of his Saviour. 

" The widow's boy has a diploma, and is to 
go, with the medal scholars, to the Music Hall. 
He was dressed in a new suit, and sat waiting 
the time to leave for the school. I thought, 
how pleasant it is to see this poor boy receiv- 
ing equal advantages with the sons of the 
rich, having a good suit of clothes given him, 
that he may not feel neglected ! Blessed insti- 
tutions are these, emanating from the Word of 
God." Afterward, calling at the same place, 



EXPERIENCE AS A CITY MISSIONARY. 55 

she writes, " The diploma has been framed, and 
hangs upon the wall, and is evidently a great 
treasure in the family." 

Speaking of the different neighborhood prayer 
meetings, she says, " It is interesting to think 
of these little fires kindled up here and there, 
like beacon lights, to show poor sinners the way 
to heaven." 

We have seen how she visited families from 
week to week, instructing, encouraging, and 
aiding them ; and that often they were led, by 
her efforts, from poverty and suffering to com- 
parative comfort. But better still, in some 
cases, individuals were led from irreligion to 
the house of God, to the reading of the Bible, 
and to a thorough change of character. One 
instance she especially mentions of a woman 
thus watched over, till at length she publicly 
professed her faith in Christ. Not alone among 
the angels was there joy that Sabbath day. She 
made, on an average, between two and three 
hundred visits every month. 

The sewing school was with her a favorite 
expedient for benefiting the children. Great 
pains were taken to collect them ; and she 
always rejoiced when a good number came. 

After visiting all the week, and doing double 
duty on Saturday, which was her busiest day, 



56 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

getting clothing for one and another, that they 
might attend church and Sabbath school, she 
welcomed the Sabbath with great delight. 
" Blessed day of rest ! " she writes. " What a 
sweet relief from toil does it bring." Truly she 
could say, " I was glad when they said unto me, 
Let us go into the house of the Lord. How 
amiable are thy tabernacles, Lord of hosts ! 
As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so 
panteth my soul after thee, God." She loved 
to see her pastor, Rev. George Richards, in his 
accustomed place, and often made mention of 
the comfort "and profit received from his preach- 
ing. Her journal was enriched by the leading 
thoughts of most of the sermons she heard, 
thereby impressing them more deeply upon 
her mind. 



CHAPTER IX. 

INCIDENTS OP THE MISSIONARY WORK. 

November , 1857. — The sunny and the shady 
sides of missionary life are recorded every week. 
The two incidents which follow are respective 
types of this sunshine and shadow. 

"Calling upon a German woman, Mrs. B., I 
found that her three children had died with the 
scarlet fever. The oldest was eight years of 
age, and a member of the East Orange Street Sab- 
bath school. She lived but three days after the 
attack. The night she died she began to sing, — 

* There is a happy land, 
Far, far away ; ' 

but her poor swelled throat prevented her from 
finishing the strain here below. About five 
minutes before death, she said, ' I love you, 
mamma ; I love you, father ; and I love my Sab- 
bath school teacher too;' and then, ' Raise me 
up, raise me up.' When they had done so, she 
put her little hands together, repeated the Lord's 
Prayer, and died. 4 Of such is the kingdom of 
heaven.' (57) 



58 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

" A week or two since I had occasion to make 
some calls at a miserable tenement near the 
marsh, and in the attic I saw the most distressing 
sight I have ever vet witnessed. The afternoon 
was cold ; the bleak November wind pierced me 
through with my warmest shawl on. Yet in 
this room there was no fire. A shivering boy 
of four years, whose uncombed hair showed the 
want of a mother's care, stood by the stove. 
Another of three years, just recovering from the 
measles, sat, pale and feeble, on a little dirty 
mattress, thrown down in a corner of the room. 
But the saddest sight of all was the baby, that 
lay moaning on the same wretched bed, with a 
cancer on and in his mouth, which was quite 
black with the dreadful sore ! Its little blue 
emaciated arms were tied together with a small 
rope, that it might not pick its mouth. ' Oh, 
dear, dear ! this is dreadful,' I exclaimed ; ' where 
is the mother ? ' c And sure, miss, she must get 
the bread for them,' said a woman from the 
next room ; ' she is out washing now, at the 
baker's.' My heart sank down, down, down. 
What could be done ? At this moment a little 
sister came in, with ragged shoes and a basket 
of chips. ' Can you not make a fire,' I asked, 
' and do something for your poor little brother? ' 
' Does he want some drink ? ' she said, soothingly ; 



INCIDENTS OF THE MISSIONARY WORK. 59 

and going to the bed, she sent the eldest boy out 
with a rusty tin pail, which he soon brought 
back, half filled with cold water ! And this for 
that distressed little one, that cheerless day ! I 
gave the girl a pair of shoes I had with me, and 
in the entry below met the mother returning 
from her work. ' I feel dreadfully about your 
poor child ; why did you leave it ? ' Her eyes 
filled with tears as she said, ' But they must 
have bread, miss ; how else can I get it for 
them ? ' I gave her a quarter of a dollar, and, 
small as the sum was, she told me on Monday, 
' I never had a quarter in my life that did me 
so much good. I bought with it some milk and 
crackers for the baby, and six cents worth of 
salve', which quite helped it.' Through a timely 
donation from Mr. H.'s class, at Winter Street, 
I was enabled to place money in the hands of 
the grocer for her, so that she need not again 
leave the poor child while it lived. Happy 
young ladies, to have ministered so effectually 
to the wants of one of those little ones, ' whose 
angels do always behold the face of our Father 
which is in heaven.' 

" A week later, and the little one was gone. 
The mother wished me to go up and look at the 
body, assuring me it would not give me pain, as 
a kind neighbor had laid it out beautifully. 



60 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

The dismal attic had been swept and cleaned ; 
the pallet in the corner was empty ; but, neatly 
arranged for burial, in its snowy shroud lay the 
child upon a table. The mouth was covered 
with a white napkin ; the full forehead was like 
marble, as were the little hands, in one of which 
had been placed white flowers ; a glass filled 
with the same was at his feet. ' How old was 
he ? ' I asked. ' Two years, ma'am, this day.' 
What a birthday was his ! 

" October 6. Called on Mrs. , a poor 

German woman, whose husband is working in a 
manufactory. She lives in an attic, and the 
place looked desolate enough. But, dismal as 
was her situation, she had tears to shed for 
others, whom she considered in a worse condi- 
tion. One of her neighbors had been seized 
with apoplexy the morning previous, and, 
though in better circumstances than herself, 
aroused her sympathy. Blessed sympathy ! — 
the light of heaven shed down upon the darkest 
paths of earth ! Our Lord, the Son of consola- 
tion, wept for - others, and his patient, generous 
bosom still bears the woes of a world, Not 
one tear, not one throb of anguish, escapes the 
' Man of sorrows.' 

" Went in to see the sick neighbor, and found 
the family in deep affliction — the mother lying 



INCIDENTS OF THE MISSIONARY WORK. 61 

insensible, and breathing heavily. Her son had 
been sick for a week previous, and she had 
labored all day to do her accustomed work, 
having five children ; then, at night, she watched 
with the sick son. Tired nature at length gave 
out, and she sank down in an apoplectic fit, and 
has remained in it ever since. A sadder sight I 
have seldom seen, — the poor boy confined to his 
bed in a chamber above, and no evidence that 
the mother is prepared for the exchange of 
worlds. She is a martyr to her son and family. 
Enduring, tender, strong as death is a mother's 
love. 

" Called on Mr. and Mrs. K. He is old, and 
very feeble. They have no means of support, 
except what their children, a boy and girl, can 
procure. The boy for a while had employ- 
ment, and earned a dollar and a half a week. 
The dollar went for rent, and the fifty cents, the 
mother said, made them comfortable, with the 
help obtained from some charitable societies. 
When we think of the fifty dollar wrought 
waists given to infants of a week old, among the 
rich, and the fifty cents per week for a family 
of four, surely we may thoughtfully inquire, 
Who hath made us to differ ? A pair of shoes 
and a dress are needed for the girl, a pair of 
shoes and some tea for the mother. 



62 



SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 



" Arranged a ride to Roxbury in the cars for 
poor feeble Miss A., to-morrow, if the weather 
be fine. 

" Again called, and, after reading and prayer, 
left ' Songs in the Night' with her, and trust that 
she is cheered somewhat by my calls. Went 
afterward to Mrs. . Left for her the Me- 
moir of Rev. Daniel Temple. With Mrs. M. 
left the Memoir of Mrs. Smith, and learned more 
of- her own history. How earth's afflicted ones 
swell in numbers, as my sphere of observation 
enlarges ! 

" 15th. A day set apart for prayer and fast- 
ing. Return unto thy rest, my soul ; renew 
thy strength at the unfailing fountain. Sweet, 
solemn rest, at the feet of our Lord ! 

" 16th. Called to see Miss S. She appeared 
interested in religious conversation, but does 
not seem to have a clear experience of the truth. 
How hard it is to probe the heart with skill ! 
Mrs. K., a German woman, young, and very 
tidy in her appearance, gives encouragement 
that she will attend church ; was in the habit of 
church-going before her marriage. Called on 
Mrs. F. and her married daughter. Realized 
while there how much easier it is to do for the 
thankful than the unthankful. Be admonished, 
my soul, and remember Him who, ' while we 






INCIDENTS OF THE MISSIONARY WORK. 63 



were yet sinners, died for us.' Made calls, in 
the evening, for clothing to give away. 

" Tuesday. Called this evening on Mrs. . 

She met me with a countenance beaming with 
cheerfulness and unwonted cordiality. ' Oh, I 
am so glad you have come ! You do not know 
how I have wanted to see you.' I had thought 
her a serious inquirer after the truth, and com- 
prehended her meaning. ' You have found the 
Lord — have you ? ' I asked. ' Yes, I believe I 
have, and every thing is very different with me 
now. We have had a sudden death in the 

house. Old Mr. was found dead in his 

bed. He retired in usual health, but when his 
son went up to him in the morning, he lay as if 
sleeping. He must have had an easy death. I 
had heard him say,' she continued, ' that he was 
ready and waiting for the coming of his Lord. 
His death startled me, and I thought of the pas- 
sage, " Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as 
ye. think not, the Son of Man cometh." What 
if it had been I ? said I to myself. My mind 
was anxious ; and last Tuesday evening, at the 
class meeting,! desired prayers, and they prayed 
for me. When I came home I did not feel as I 
desired to, or thought I ought to. Then I re- 
membered the remark in the book you lent me, 
that we must not expect our feelings will be 



64 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 






just as we desire, and at last I knelt down in 
that corner and prayed. Oh, I thought I had 
prayed before, when my husband died, and in 
my heart-breaking sorrows since ; but never have 
I prayed as I did then. The divine presence 
seemed all around me. I felt that the Lord 
was there ; and since then I think I am drawn 
nearer to him. Every thing looks different to 
me. I know I owe a bill at the grocer's, and 
others at other places ; but it does not trouble 
me as it did. I remember about Jesus. You 
know, when he kindled a fire by the lake, and 
his disciples did not know where their food was 
to come from, yet he found it for them, and I 
believe it will be so with me.' As I walked 
homeward, it was with tearful gratitude that I 
looked up to the starlit heavens, and recalled 
an afternoon in the last October. It was a 
bright, serene day, as I returned with her from 
an unsuccessful effort to obtain a situation for 
her oldest boy. I thought how my heart sank 
with hers at the prospect before her, until a 
great shadow rested above and around us, and 
the gentle waving of the elms on the Common 
sounded like a dirge. After we parted, how 
gloomily I looked forward, and wondered if I 
could live through the long winter, bearing such 
burdens as these ! But what had God wrought ? 



INCIDENTS OF THE MISSIONARY WORK. 65 

Independent of minor agencies, he hath, in an 
accepted day, both heard and succored his af- 
flicted one. Though sorrow endured for a 
night, joy has come in the morning. We will 
arise and adore ! " 

A few days later, she writes, " Went up some 

very old, steep stairs, where I was told Mrs. 

lived. Having knocked, a gentle little voice 
said, ' Come in ; ' and, on opening the door, I 
found a little lame girl, about seven years old, 
standing in a chair by the window. Her mother 
was not in ; so, pleased by the face of the little 
one, and wishing to know if they were in need, 
I sat down and talked with her a while. ' How 
many of you are there,' I asked, ' besides your 
mother ? ' ' Two brothers, and a sister who 
died about two years ago.' ' You say your 
sister is dead, and you have got two brothers, 
who live here with you ? ' ' They is dead, 
about three years ago,' she answered. ' Oh, 
they are dead — are they ? ' I asked. ' Well, 
then, how many of you are there ? ' ' Two 
brothers and my sister.' ' But you say they 
are dead ; is there no one who lives here besides 
you and your mother ? ' ' No,' she said. I 
thought of the beautiful lines, — 

<A simple child, . . . 

That lightlv draws its breath, 

5 



66 



SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 



And feels its life in every limb, 
What can it know of death ? f 



* " But they are dead ; those two are dead ; 

Their spirits are in heaven : 
How many are there then ? " I said. 
She answered, " We are seven," * 

a She had on an old dress, and when I asked 
her if she had any aprons, she said, ' No, only 
some tyers I had a year ago.' ' Should you like 
a new apron ? ' I inquired. 4 1 should/ she 
said ; and taking one from my reticule, I put it 
on her, telling her that some little girls made 
it. She passed her hands over it as I was fas- 
tening it on, and said, 4 They made it nice — 
didn't they? It's pretty.' -Shall I tell them 
you think it is made nice ? ' ' Yes,' she replied. 
I then asked her if she had ever heard of Jesus 
Christ. She said, Q I think I heard telling of 
him.' Then I tried to make the story plain to 
her little mind why he died ; told her if she 
took him for her Saviour, she would one day be 
an angel and live with him, and then asked her 
if she had ever seen an angel. ' Only my little 
brother, when he was dead,' was her simple and 
beautiful reply. Her sweet, ' I thank you,' as I 
left the room, would have repaid the givers of 



INCIDENTS OP THE MISSIONARY WORK. 67 

the pretty apron, which I left her smoothing 
with her hands, in evident satisfaction and joy. 

1 ' The seed that by the wayside fell, 
Perchance, you counted dead ; 
Yet birds that sing in heaven may tell, 
They on its sweetness fed." 

" Monday, January 4. The generous dona- 
tion of twenty-five dollars, yesterday, from Mr. 
H., ought to make me humble under a sense of 
God's great goodness. To be a faithful stew- 
ard, and a holy disciple, I hope is my desire. 
But what are my efforts to accomplish this ? I 
ought to be grateful for being an almoner of 
good to the needy. 

" Tuesday. Was engaged in providing for tire 
L. family things needful for the funeral of little 
Willie. A lady kindly gave me some white 
flowers to lay on the coffin. Some Christian 
friends were present at the last service, and 
when they had left, I involuntarily exclaimed, 
How beautiful is Christianity! — for so it seemed 
in those kind services rendered. Willie looked 
pleasant, as if sleeping. We hope, through 
Jesus Christ our Lord, he has gone where, as 
his pastor read, ' there shall be no more sorrow 
nor crying ; for God shall wipe away all tears 
from their eyes.' 



68 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

" A day or two before little Willie died, he 
was in much distress, and seemed to be dying. 
That mother's sorrow was enough to melt the 
hardest heart. Be it in an attic, straitened and 
cheerless, or in a softly carpeted room, with 
lofty frescoed ceilings, the mother's love is the 
same — unfathomed, unutterable. ' Willie, don't 
you want to live where angels is ? Don't you 
want to live where God is, and see him ? ' were 
the touching questions of this poor mother, 
whose heart leads her, like those better in- 
structed in Bible truths, to the unfailing source 
of consolation in such an hour — a reconciled 
God and heaven. 

"' Called on Mrs. H. In speaking of pride in 
dress, she alluded to her daughter, — who died 
long since in the faith, — and said that, when she 
was at school, it often troubled her to be 
slighted by her companions on account of her 
plain dress and their simple way of living. 
One day she came home from Sabbath school, 
saying she had found some verses which she 
meant to learn, she liked them so well. And 
ever afterward, when thus troubled, she would 
repeat, — 

Am I poor ? Do men despise me ? 

Do they pass me proudly by ? 
Then, oh, let me still remember, 

Jesus was as poor as I. 



INCIDENTS OF THE MISSIONARY WORK. 69 

1 Was he poor ? Nay, he was poorer : 
He had neither home nor bed, 
Neither friendly shade nor shelter 
For his unprotected head. 

< Then 1*11 ever cease complaining : 
What though riches be not mine ? 
I am poor ; and thus, my Saviour, 
Does my lot resemble thine/ 

" Mrs. R.'s son has at last an opportunity to 
go to sea. How glad I am ! Yet she must 
have more money than they have allowed him, 
in order to be decently fitted out. Think I 
must see Deacon R. in the morning. 

" Tuesday. Went to see Deacon R. It rained 
quite fast, and the walk was somewhat cheer- 
less. He, however, gave me five dollars, and 
thanked me for coming. Oh that they who 
thus give freely and cheerfully could know the 
full amount of light and comfort they impart to 
others !" 



CHAPTER X. 

LETTERS. 

Bostox, February 10, 1858. 

My dear M. : How pleasant it would be for 
me to step into mother's warm room to-night, as 
I used to do last winter before retiring ! My 
heart sometimes longs for Hingham friends, and 
I think of some future day when I may be with 
you ; but then it is not best to look away too 
much from present duties, for I am sure, when 
it is best, the way will be open for me to spend 
a season with you all. I hope I shall hear good 
news from the church and Sabbath school. 

I to-day attended the funeral of a faithful 
Methodist minister. Some very impressive re- 
marks were made. Among others was this : 
" Our heavenly Father has nowhere told us, 
' Learn to die.' It is all, Learn to live : living 
faithfully, we die and go home to glory." . . . 
Your affectionate cousin, 

Susan. 



To a cousin at school, she writes : — 



(70) 



LETTERS. 71 

So you are an academian, my dear A, I am 
very glad, for I think it will be a great advan- 
tage to you. I hope you will improve your time 
better than I did mine. I think a very good 
rule for you will be, — whatever you undertake, 
resolve to do it well. Never think one or two 
poor lessons a week are of little consequence. 
Resolutely keep hold of your book till every les- 
son is mastered, and by and by it will be a habit 
with you to have perfect lessons, and compara- 
tively easy. Habits are great, helps, provided 
they be good ones. An old deacon was medi- 
tating, one evening, on the benefit he had de- 
rived from the habit of always going to the 
weekly prayer meeting. So he rose in his seat, 
and abruptly said, " Blessed be God for habits." 
I think the good man's remark has helped me. 
Perhaps it may you. If it does, tell it to some- 
body else, and so keep the ball rolling. 

Affectionately yours, Susan. 

My dear Miss R. : My heart is very full con- 
cerning you. And now that you are seeking 
the Lord, a still tenderer chord is touched. 
Press on, my friend ; let no discouragements 
hinder. " He waits to be gracious." How 
tender ! Not staying to be sought, but waiting — 
the Lord of glory waiting ! 



72 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

" Oh, lovely attitude ! he stands 
With melting heart, and loaded hands : 
Oh, matchless kindness ! and he shows 
This matchless kindness to his foes ! " 

I would urge you to take " Doddridge's Rise 
and Progress," and read it over and over, till 
your heart is at peace. 

A lovely Christian told me that she read to 
where he takes leave of the sinner, and then 
could not go on in sympathy with him to the 
next chapter ; and so she read it again and 
again, until, at last, she cast herself at the feet 
of Jesus, after which she finished the book with 
sweet delight. It perhaps may not occur to 
you, that there is another praying for you, 
whom, as yet, you have not seen. You wish to 
know the name ? It is He " who ever liveth to 
make intercession for us " ! Precious prayers 
are those. Must they not prevail ? . . . 

Other precious dust lies at Mount Auburn, 
besides that of your Lizzie ; and they who, like 
you, have, beneath its wavy shadows, laid away 
forms dear to them as life, know well how to 
shed with you the tear of sympathy. Just on 
your left, as you enter, is a lot upon the slope 
of the hill, beneath whose grassy turf reposes 
one, upon whose breast I rested in my earliest 
slumbers. My father, my own dear father, is 



LETTERS. 73 

not there ; it is only " the place where they laid 
him ; " but yet, how prone we are, like the disci- 
ples of old, to "seek the living among the 
dead," forgetting that " they have risen " ! 

I remember how the moon shone the night 
he died ; how bright the heavens were ; how I 
begged them to shut out its light, and make my 
chamber dark, as though I would have the 
clouds sackcloth, and the rain weep with my 
own tears. I remember the bright sunset of 
the following day, when kind friends were fold- 
ing up the sable garments they had been pre- 
paring to clothe my body outwardly, as grief 
had already robed me within. That sunset was 
most gorgeous ; yet it made me think of the day 
" when the heavens shall pass away as a scroll, 
and the elements melt in fervent heat." 

I remember the misplaced comfort one sought 
to offer, by telling over the marks of an unusual 
fondness my father had always shown for me. 
As though I did not know who it was that had 
died ! I remember many things more, and so 
will you remember, years hence, many of these 
recent scenes. It is well to do so, for, though 
it be a furnace seven times heated, has not one 
like unto the Son of God walked with you in 
the midst of it ? 

Welcome, then, afflictions which cut us loose 



74 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

from earth, and help us to soar heavenward ! 
Welcome, " light afflictions for a moment,' 5 for 
they work out a " far more exceeding and eter- 
nal weight of glory " ! Welcome, fellowship 
with the Man of sorrows ! Welcome, kind Phy- 
sician, who dost probe to heal ! Welcome, 
streams of living water, of which we long re- 
fused to taste ! Welcome, precious promises, 
that assure us of our interest in our Father's 
love, because, by chastenings, he dealeth with 
us as with sons ! Welcome, crosses which, ere 
long, shall be transformed to crowns ! Wel- 
come, the narrow portal of life eternal ! We 
will arise and trim our lamps ; the bridegroom 
will shortly be at the door, and we have slum- 
bered long. May he grant us grace, my dear 
friend, so to be watching, that we may hear the 
melody of that assuring voice, " Well done, 
good and faithful servants ; enter ye into the joy 
of your Lord." 

Mr. and Mrs. K. : Kind friends, I thank 
you very much for your generous donation of 
books, received not long since. Twelve or fif- 
teen of them I have given away among the 
families I visit, thinking thereby to do more 
good than by keeping them all to loan. 

It is related of Father Grafton, of Newton, 






LETTERS. 75 



that when, in his parochial calls, he received 
gifts from his parishoners, he would say, " My 
friends, I can not repay you ; but I have a Friend 
who can, and when I get home I will tell him 
about it." Allow me to leave your cause in 
the hands of the same friend, and also let me 
send you a few sunbeams. 

Going in to see a young invalid Catholic 
woman, whom I find it difficult to approach on 
the subject of religion, I asked permission to 
read her a chapter from the " Better Land." 
Notwithstanding some hard thrusts at Popery, 
which I stumbled on, she was deeply interested, 
and requested me to bring it again, that her 
mother-in-law might read it. I left the book 
with them a fortnight, and, on going for it, the 
mother said she had read it, but it was " so 
beautiful a book," would I leave it long enough 
for her to read it through once more ? 

A pious member of the Essex Street Church, 
who depends upon her own hands for the sup- 
port of herself and husband, remarked to me, 
that she was so weary and sick on the previous 
Sabbath, that she could not go out to church. 
" But," she added, " I lay down and read 
Elijah the Tishbite (which I had lent her), 
and it was such a feast ! " 

To another member of the same church I 



76 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

carried Baxter's Saints' Rest, which she had 
long been eagerly desiring. Had a literal " feast 
of fat things " been spread before her, she would 
not have brightened up more. 

For an irreligious man, who but seldom en- 
ters the sanctuary, I left Nelson's Cause and 
Cure of Infidelity ; and, calling for it a day or 
two since, his wife remarked, " My husband 
has not yet finished the book, but he goes up 
stairs Sundays and reads it. He is quite inter- 
ested in it." 

To an industrious but very feeble and poor 
Catholic woman I carried H. More's " Repos- 
itory Tracts," knowing that, though she could 
not read, her children could. I read to her, 
however, a part of the first story, the Shep- 
herd of Salisbury Plain ; and, after listening for 
some time intently, she exclaimed, " Dear me ! 
it seems as though I never heard any thing so 
beautiful as that." 

For a member of Mr. Parker's society, who, 
with her husband, has fully coincided with his 
views and measures, I left " Lady Huntington 
and her Friends ; " and, calling a fortnight after- 
ward, I found her husband reading the volume. 
He left the room as I went in, and his wife re- 
marked, she thanked me for the book. She felt 
that it was written by a loving spirit, and as she 



LETTERS. 77 

liked to see high attainments in goodness, of 
course she liked to read it. Her husband had 
read it also, but was now looking it over the 
second time. 

In a street not far from you there lives a 
pious, lonely widow, suffering, much of the time, 
from acute bodily pain. I carried her " Songs 
in the Night," which she received with delight, 
saying she had often wished to see it. When I 
next visited her, she took up the volume, as it 
lay on the bed, and, with a look one would not 
soon forget, remarked, " I don't think you know 
what a book this is ! It goes right here ! " 
placing her hand upon her heart, her eyes at 
the same time filling with tears. She called 
my attention to several hymns that had been 
peculiarly consoling. 

And so these streams of refreshing flow on, 
making the wilderness and solitary places glad. 
May the fragrant flowers that spring on their 
banks refresh in weary hours the liberal hearts 
who caused them to flow. 



OHAPTEE XI. 

NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 

May, 1858. There is a pleasant story told, 
of a man living on the borders of an Afri- 
can desert, who carried daily a pitcher of cold 
water to the dusty thoroughfare, and left it for 
any thirsty travelers who might pass that way. 
And our Saviour said, " Whosoever shall give 
to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of 
cold water only, in the name of a disciple, verily 
I say unto you, He shall in no wise lose his re- 
ward.' 9 Bat cups of cold water are not given 
in African deserts alone. A spiritual Sahara 
spreads over the whole earth, and to its fainting 
travelers many a ready hand holds forth the 
grateful " cup." 

A lady, whose home looks out upon our beau- 
tiful Common, called to ask me if I would tell 
her of some poor and sick persons, to whom she 
could be of service in furnishing good books. 
The names of two were given; and the Testa- 
ment, in large type, which shortly found its way 
to the old man's abode, also the green tea and 

(78) 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 79 

white sugar — rare luxuries — for the feeble 
woman in the cellar kitchen, and the dollar bill, 
slipped into her hand at parting — were they 
not rt cups of cold water " ? 

A poor Scotch comb-maker's wife, whose gen- 
erous heart is larger than her purse, gave me 
fifteen combs, asking, in a half-doubting way, if 
I thought some poor children, who had none, 
would not like them. And so fifteen young 
hearts were made glad ! By w T hat ? Surely by 
" cups of cold water," in no wise to lose their 
reward. 

Several young misses met in our pastor's par- 
lor, in the early part of the season, to sew for 
poor children. From time to time, they have 
come together, plying busy fingers with happy 
hearts. And we have sixty-two garments as a 
result. Sixty-two " cups of cold water " ! How 
the heavenly inventory runs up ! 

A pious German woman, herself an invalid, 
heard that her neighbor, in the yard below, was 
yet more feeble. The bottle of wine, provided 
for her at tlie doctor's suggestion, would surely 
do that neighbor good. And so, nimble little 
feet are soon at the widow's door, a bright face 
looks in, and, with a " Mother sent you this," 
the little flask stands upon the table. Wine to 
the sick woman it may be ; but the divine chem- 



80 SUSAN ML UNDERWOOD. 

istry, which years ago changed water into wine, 
can show this, also, to be a " cup of cold wa- 
ter"! 

Late one Saturday evening, a pious widow, in 
humble circumstances, who had not walked, 
save from one chamber to another, for years, 
sent me a loaf of bread, with the message, " The 
Lord sent it to me for some poor woman." The 
lateness of the hour, and our Lord's saying, that 
it was lawful to do good on the Sabbath day, 
determined me to leave it until the morning, 
when I took it where I thought it would be wel- 
come. " The Lord has sent you a loaf of bread, 
Mrs. S.," I remarked, as I went in. Lifting up 
her hands towards heaven, her eyes filling with 
tears, she exclaimed, " The Lord be praised." 
Then pointing to the neatly-spread table, with 
its scanty breakfast, she said, " There is all we 
had for to-day." Was it strange that the ring- 
ing of the church bells made glad music in my 
ear that morning ? And may we not believe 
new notes of joy were heard above, as the heav- 
enly chronicler noted down, in that wondrous 
book, another " cup of cold water in the name 
of a disciple " ? 

And so streams of refreshing flow through 
the parched desert. So to fainting lips is 
pressed, by loving hands, the overflowing 
44 cup." 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 81 

" Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness 
When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gene, 

So will they be to this w r orld's weary dwellers — 
Only remembered by what they have done. 

" Up and away, like the dew of the morning, 

Soaring from earth to its home in the sun, 
So let me steal away, gently and lovingly, 

Only remembered by what I have done." 

The following extracts are from Miss Under- 
wood's monthly reports of her work : — 

August, 1858. The month of August is end- 
ed ; and where have I been, what seen and done ? 
Children I have seen, happy children, in the 
pleasant walk by the pond, and by the shady 
roadside, on the gently-sloping beach, dancing 
amid the surging waves ; in the old farm house, at 
the cheerful table ; in the breezy berry pasture, 
or in the dim old woods, making them ring with 
their noisy glee, as, one pleasant afternoon, we 
took our supper with them, beneath whispering 
leaves. The boys made a velvet carpet of moss 
for the girls to stand on, to recite their pretty 
hymns and sing their songs, while the latter, 
meantime, wove the oak leaves together, to 
trim the cake baskets. Then, coming back, 
what a grand old grove we found, far up on the 
hill looking off to the west, with the waving 
6 



82 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 



our 

>rest 



carpet of tree tops, stretching far away at 
feet! Somebody," years ago, named it " Forest 
Sanctuary." We would like to have seen a 
group of the old Covenanters in it. The chil- 
dren did not think of them — not they ; but, sing- 
ing, shouting, clapping their hands, they 
seemed fully to understand what the little boy 
expressed once, — 

" Oh, mother, it is such fun to be alive ! " 
Other children I have seen, grouped on the 
dusty sidewalk of the city, playing with old 
barrels, or half famished kittens. Their pale 
faces have looked out upon me, as I passed up 
dark stairways, some to welcome me back, as 
did one in that hot upper chamber, who ran and 
threw her arms about me, and then pressed my 
hand lovingly to her heart. 

I have stood at the bedside of the sick. The 
room in which that aged woman lay was cheer- 
ful and airy. The sheets were snowy white, 
and every thing about her person scrupulously 
neat. One of the family stood fanning her, 
while another watched every movement with 
tearful interest. Delicacies were upon the table. 
Green blinds and white curtains within, and 
dark, shadowy trees without, subdued the light 
of the midday sun ; soft rugs hushed every foot- 
fall, and a servant waited, within call, to attend 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 83 

to every want. Scarcely a sound broke the 
stillness of that sick room, save the call at the 
door to make the oft-repeated inquiry, "How 
is she to-day ? " As I stood over her, before 
leaving, and tried to speak some words of com- 
fort, there was no response, save a momentary 
gleam of consciousness. Had she a well- 
grounded hope beyond the grave ? We may 
not know until the day when the secrets of all 
hearts shall be revealed. 

I have stood by another bedside. It was up 
in that three-storied tenement, which looks 
down upon a sidewalk swarming with men, 
women, and children, who laugh, smoke, and 
carouse, from morning till late at night. There 
was no furniture in the room, save two chairs; 
and on the floor was a dirty — oh, what a dirty ! 
— bed, on which lay a young mother, who, they 
told me, was near death. Lifting the black vail 
which had been thrown over her as a protection 
from the flies, I saw a suffering face, such as 
might well melt the hardest heart. Foul as 
was the air, the shawl-covered window, near 
her, closely shut out the fresh breeze, that now 
and then might have swept in, while the la- 
bored breathing showed how much she panted 
for it. Overworking to support the family, 
when her husband could get nothing to do, had 



84 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

brought her to this. Bound by the ties of a 
common humanity, I recognized there a sister. 
It was a sight for angels to weep over. The 
world may shed its tears over its mock trage- 
dies ; we have none to spare for them. Such 
realities as this are enough for us — heart- 
breaking sorrows of earth, linked in with the 
momentous awards of eternity ! 

October, 1858. A suffering woman, whom 
some of us have many times found it a privilege 
to visit, has lately passed away, leaving behind 
the shattered tenement, so long decaying. Her 
freed spirit has soared, we trust, to a clime 
where health and youth are eternal. We miss 
her, but we do not mourn, for we feel that, to 
her, death was unspeakable gain. Revisit with 
me that upper chamber, where faith and patience 
were so long having their perfect work. Every 
thing was scrupulously neat. The straw car- 
peting, though used long, had been used with 
care. On the old-fashioned bureau were sundry 
boxes and baskets, covered dishes and tumblers, 
which would have set ordinary bureaus in con- 
fusion, but here seemed made to keep company 
together. Over this was hanging a picture of 
an old divine, bent with age, and walking-cane 
in hand, looking so in keeping with the room 
and its occupant, that I doubt if the " Art 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 85 

Union " itself had one more appropriate. The 
chairs were such as we see in old country 
homes, some of them with patch cushions ; and 
the neat bed stood in the corner, but was never 
used, for, in the large easy chair by the fire- 
place, the sick woman took her repose, night 
and day, and had done so for more than twenty 
years. On cool days, a little charcoal fire burned 
on the hearth before the dark chimney, now 
dying almost away, and then replenished, send- 
ing forth its merry sparks with a snapping noise, 
that enlivened the stillness of the apartment. I 
once went in, and, sitting down by it, fell to 
musing, so that I did not wonder when she 
said, " That fire is a great mystery to me. I 
sit and look at it, and think, and think, till it 
confuses me." " If our hearts were like it," I 
replied, "what a flame of devotion would ascend 
to God ! " " Yes," she added ; " but it requires 
care, and so do they." 

Poor sufferer ! There she sat, patiently en- 
during severe and long-continued pains. The 
cheerful sun shone through the half closed 
blinds of the east windows, and bade her " good 
morning ; " and through the west window he 
bade her " good night." The only modern in- 
novation in her sick room was the little clock, 
which looked quite out of place ; but, like some 



86 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 






cheerful spirits in uncongenial society, it good- 
humoredly kept up its ticking, as much as to say, 
" Never mind ; we will have a good time after 
all." Day succeeded night, and night day, 
almost unheeded by the aged woman. The 
busy world passed and repassed beneath her 
windows ; children sent forth their merry shout, 
and the great tide of human affairs ebbed and 
flowed by, leaving her as it found her. When 
spring woke to life the birds and flowers in the 
yard across the way, she would totter to the 
window, and let in the gladsome breeze. How 
old she looked ! how worn ! how faded ! So, 
sometimes, in autumn have you seen the golden 
summer flower bleached white, swaying in the 
blast, and wondered why it did not fall before 
it grew so unsightly. Yet you knew that, 
within its weather-beaten folds were hid the 
seeds of a new life, which, in a coming spring, 
would rise in wondrous beauty. Thus within 
her feeble, suffering frame was hid the germ of 
an eternal life. The Angel of Patience dwelt 
in that heart, preparing the abiding place for a 
heavenly guest. 

Years ago, she was a member of Park Street 
choir, and listened to the preaching of Dr. Grif- 
fin. She loved the grand old truths that she 
then heard, and gave evidence that hers was an 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 87 

experimental knowledge of their power. She 
was not given to relate her personal experi- 
ences, but her incidental remarks on practical 
Christianity showed that she was no stranger 
with her Saviour. She was well informed on 
all the great missionary movements of the 
church; and, though much of the world's secu- 
lar affairs she did not know, yet her remarks 
often showed that she was not ignorant of many 
facts that a more careless mind would have 
overlooked. 

Gradually, all the summer long, the silver 
cord was being loosed. Though for many a 
" wearisome night" her tent had been pitched 
" a day's march nearer home," it was soon to be 
struck for the last time, and she was " to pass 
over Jordan." On the Sabbath before her 
death, she said to Martha, — the girl who came 
in daily to prepare her meals, — " I shall not be 
here another Sabbath, and I want you to sing to 
me, before I eat, — 

1 On Jordan's stormy banks I stand.' " 

The same noon her pastor called, and, while 
there, sung her a hymn. " Nearer home " was 
a leading thought expressed in it ; and, after he 
had gone, she said, " I can not eat until you 
have readme that hymn, < Nearer home ;' how 



88 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

good that was ! " And so Martha sat down on 
the stool at her feet, while, with emaciated 
hands, the aged one smoothed back the hair 
from the child's forehead, saying, " You love 
me, perhaps." " Yes, I am sure I do," was the 
reply. " It may be you love me as well as you 
would a grandmother," she added, and then 
nervously laughed, that so much of her heart's 
yearnings should have been expressed. " Yes," 
was the honest answer, " I love you a great deal 
more than I do my grandmother, for I have 
been with you more. You seem real near." 
The tremulous motion of the lips showed that 
the lonely heart was satisfied. Though, just be- 
fore, the glorious land of rest had kindled desire 
and strengthened her faith, — though some faint 
antepast of the heavenly choir had just cheered 
her solitary room, — yet there was still an earthly 
tie to be sundered ere she could joyfully join in 
it ; and she longed to know hers was not the 
only heart that would feel it. Peace to her 
memory ! 

There is one luxury in which the poor should 
be indulged equally with the rich, and that is, 
the luxury of doing good. Do any ask how one 
who can scarce keep his own head above water 
can save a drowning brother ? Let it be an- 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 89 

swered, that an encouraging word, inspiring the 
sinking, to hope till relief comes, may often be 
as a word of life to the dead. The measure- 
ment of gifts in the Divine treasury extends 
back to the means and motives of the giver. It 
is a pleasant thought, that in the honorable 
mention of woman in the Scriptures, crowned 
heads and great ladies are passed by, to note a 
Dorcas, who made garments for the poor, a 
Mary, who broke the alabaster box of ointment, 
to anoint her Lord, and a certain poor woman, 
who cast her two mites into the treasury. 

Similar spirits have been found in the world 
ever since ; and if it be ours to open channels 
through which the sympathies of their hearts 
may flow, let us not deem it an unworthy ser- 
vice. I have been much interested in some cases 
coming under my personal observation. We 
told the children in our sewing school, that the 
patchwork they were sewing was to be made 
into cradle quilts, for poor children. A bright- 
ening of their eyes showed that to them it was 
a pleasant thought. After they were made, a 
pious woman, who has more heart and time 
than money, proposed quilting them, ready for 
use. So the children soon saw them unfolded, 
all nicely finished, and it would be hard to tell 
which of the three parties, the children, the 



90 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

quilter, or the babies, received the most benefit 
There, is a little shop, which I pass often, that 
makes me think of those Mary Howitt tells of in 
her stories. It is about eight feet square, and 
contains a neatly kept, but nondescript collec- 
tion of toys, cotton cloth, crockery ware, worsteds, 
and confectionery. The aged woman who keeps 
it has a Christian heart, aud it affects me to note, 
from time to time, the varied contributions she 
makes. One day she will boil a custard, over 
her little stove, for the sick ; on another, she will 
hand me for some one, a mug of hot soup. Or, 
it may be, she will have a parcel of thread, 
needles, and yarn tied up, which she will hand 
me, saying, " It is but a mite, but I hope it will 
do somebody good." Who doubts that it does 
good ? 

These offerings, I am sure, do me good. 
They make a spring and summer for me all the 
year round. Amid much that is discouraging, 
they afford retreats for the mind to rest in, like 
Christian's chamber, in the palace Beautiful, 
whose name was Peace, and whose windows 
looked toward the sun's rising. 



CHAPTER XII. 

NARRATIVES OF THE POOR CONTINUED. 

November, 1858. Went home, to spend 
Thanksgiving in Hingham. As the boat came 
near the landing, no father was waiting anx- 
iously at the head of the pier. The dark leaden 
clouds mantled the distant hills, and yet, under- 
neath, toward the horizon, was a bright edge, 
betokening the " silver lining." I thought of 
the wide contrast in my views of life now, and ten 
years ago. It seems a more noble thing, this 
life of ours, than it did then. How I hoped the 
channels of influence might be henceforth deep 
and wide before me. How I panted to grow. 
To use up days and years as the costly threads 
which the weaver joins into a fabric, uniform 
and resplendent. If ever this be mine to do, it 
will be all of grace. If, into this sluggish soul 
of mine, the divine seed has been dropped ; if I 
may but watch and tend it, surely it shall grow 
into a tree, in the branches of which the birds 
of the air may come and lodge, and sing. So, 
while to grace ever more a debtor, may I yet 
hope and labor on. C 91 ) 



92 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

The house was quite bright with lights as the 
carriage stopped at the door. One, two, ran 
out, and mother stood waiting in the entry. 
Glad words of welcome made me feel that I was 
at home. But what was this to the final " home 
welcome " from the saints, to those who are 
heirs, according to the promise ? 

28fk. Last week, made an effort to get my 
poor people a thanksgiving present, but was 
unsuccessful. On my return to the city, in 
calling on some of the families, found they had 
been provided with dinners for thanksgiving, 
from various sources. The loving kindness of 
the Lord has beer* manifest to me in these provi- 
dences, so marked, so sweet, so tender, that I 
exclaim with the Psalmist, "Oh, that men would 
praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his won- 
derful works to the children of men." Through 
avenues, as countless as the streams which flow 
into the sea, he giveth to all their meat in 
due season. Too often limiting the Holy One 
of Israel, we rely upon an arm of flesh, and say, 
Who shall satisfy all these with bread ? With 
infinite ease, and bounty as infinite, he supplies 
them, and we shortly see " seven baskets full of 
fragments" above their need. 

Find it is not enough merely to perform 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 93 

kind services ; the manner of performance de- 
mands careful attention. 

Our Lord Jesus Christ was an eminent pat- 
tern for us in all things. In his acts -of benefi- 
cence, he made no needless inquiry. He laid 
his hand upon the bier, and raised the dead. 
No word is recorded as having been spoken, 
merely to elicit grateful acknowledgment. He 
performed charities like a God. With what love 
and meekness did he also administer reproof! 
How beautiful his address to censorious Simon : 
" Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee ; " 
and then, " Tell me, therefore, which of them 
will love him most." Was ever a rebuke so 
tender, and yet so complete ? 

There is a disposition in the human mind to 
look at truth through a vail of highly colored 
imagery. When we step forward upon any new 
course, this fancy-tinted foreground recedes, and 
the crags and thorns become realities. We are 
disappointed, it may be, dismayed. The flesh 
cries out for relief from the toil, and the spirit, 
though willing, faints, yet rouses herself when 
she remembers it is her Lord himself who testi- 
fies, " In the world ye shall have tribulation." 
She sees that she should have expected no less, 
and, with a sobered, chastened zeal, begins to 



94 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

act. This lesson I have been learning with 
more especial reference to the feelings of grati- 
tude I have expected from those for whom I 
labored so unworthily. Often, that which has 
caused me the most toil, has seemed to be the 
least understood. This has cast me down, and 
led me to see that I expected too much. When 
I remember the weary traveler over Judea's bar- 
ren hills, the agonized sufferer in the garden, 
the expiatory sacrifice on Calvary, I feel it be- 
comes me to lay my -hand upon my mouth, and 
my mouth in the dust, exclaiming, " Lord, 
enter not into judgment with thy servant." 

December, 1858. As I went up the wooden 
stairs, on the outside of the large three-storied 
house where the sick boy lives, and looked up to 
the starlit sky, I thought of another night, some 
eighteen hundred years ago, when, to the shep- 
herds of Judea, those same heavens were vocal 
with the songs of angels. The message that was 
then brought to this sin-stricken world, has not 
grown old. It was the same that I was to bear 
to the bedside of the suffering boy. Peace on 
earth, through Him who lived and died for us ! 
As I went in and took his wasted hand, his dark 
eye brightened, and a pleasant smile of welcome 
illumined his face. A kind gentlemen had given 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 95 

me a book that I thought would please him, 
about the childhood of Jesus. And so I said, 
" Have you any Christmas presents, James ? " 

"No," he replied; " but Miss M brought 

me one for my birthday" — and he reached 
across the bed to get it for me. It was a book 
called "The Beautiful Home." "Do you know, 
James," I asked, " where the beautiful home 
is?" "Yes; in heaven." "And who lives 
there?" "Jesus." "And who else?" He 
did not answer immediately, and I added, — 
"Are there any children there ? " " Yes." 
" Do all children go there ? " I asked. " No," 
he said. " Can you tell me how that is ? " I 
added ; " what has to be done to any before they 
can go ? " " They must be washed in the blood 
of Jesus," was his reply. (McCheyne says the 
evidences of conversion in children, are to be 
found in their conscious sense of sin.) Prom 
this, and the conversation which followed, I 
could not but hope a saving change had been 
wrought in his young heart. I came away, 
feeling that to him death would be unspeakable 
gain. 

Little Emily is another of the suffering ones. 
Her mother is a widow, supporting herself and 
young family by washing and ironing. Yet 
Emily is made comfortable by kind friends, who 



96 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

often remember her. The good doctor, who at- 
tends her free of charge, was called to the West 
on business. While he was away, Emily grew 
worse, and one day said to her mother, " If I 
should not be here when the doctor comes 
back, tell him the Lord will reward him." On 
Thanksgiving day, while her dinner, that had 
been sent her, was being prepared, she sat up 
and repeated the lines, — 

" "Whene'er I take my walks abroad, 
How many poor I see ; 
"What shall I render to the Lord, 
For all his gifts to me ? " 

A benevolent lady had given her a warm 
blanket ; and many times, as her mother has 
wrapped it round her, she has said, " God bless 

Mrs. W , mother." Who would not crave 

such a benediction from the dying ? 

" Then shall the King say unto them on his 
right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, in- 
herit the kingdom prepared for you from the 
foundation of the world. For I was sick, and 
ye visited me ; naked, and ye clothed me. Then 
shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, 
when saw we thee naked, and clothed thee ; or 
sick, and came unto thee ? And the King shall 
answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 97 

you, Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least 
of these, ye have done it unto me." 

" Done to thee, wilt thou esteem it 

O our Saviour, done to thee ? 
When life's burdens grow too weary, 

This shall our rejoicing be. 
Thou hast said it, we believe it, 

* Ye have done it unto me.' " 

The following lines were written by Miss 
Underwood, at this time, to an associate city 
missionary, who has since gone as a missionary 
to India : — 

To the Memory of Mrs. Hannah Cushman, who died 
January 20, 1859. 

We miss thee still, our mother ! Three times the gladsome 

Spring 
Hath clothed anew the hillsides, and made the valleys sing, 
Since mournfully, yet peacefully, with reverent feet and slow, 
To thy last rest we bore thee, amid the winter's snow. 

We miss thee still, our mother — and weary seem the years 
Since last we heard thy gentle voice, and felt thy loving tears, 
As, grasping fast our hands in thine, the cordial greeting 

came — 
We heard, as no one else could speak, our own familiar name. 

We miss thee still, our mother ! Oh, oft come weary days, 
As we press on bewildered, amid life's stormy maze, 
We hear not in our sadness thy words of counsel rare, 
Thy wondrous charm to comfort, and lift the burdening care. 

7 



SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

We miss thee still, our mother — when struggling with the 

foe, 
Dark doubts on our tired spirits their gloomy shadow throw ; 
We know for us no longer thy heart doth plead in prayer, 
That we by grace may triumph, believe, and not despair. 

We miss thee still, our mother — and long as life shall last, 
One grave beside our pathway will never quite be past ; 
Nor from our fond remembrance will ever fade the spot; 
It holds a sacred treasure, — it can not be forgot ! 

We miss thee still, our mother, — but oh ! the blissful 

thought, 
If o'er the dark death river our feet are safely brought 
Within the "many mansions " upon the shining shore, 
With rapture we may greet thee, — to miss thee never more ! 

April, 1859. Felt depressed, on awaking in 
the morning, to find the day was Tuesday. The 
remembrance of explorations into new neighbor- 
hoods, a week previous, was not pleasant, and I 
felt a secret unwillingness to spend another 
such day. But how can we " endure hardness, 
as good soldiers of Jesus Christ," if we do not 
meet and contend with obstacles ? Newman 
Hall says, " Test of discipleship is found in ex- 
posure to trial, rather than in exemption from 
it." " My grace is sufficient for thee, for my 
strength is made perfect in weakness," was the 
text for the day. And, with such a staff to lean 
upon, who could despair ? 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 99 

Shall I link together the brief notes of some 
of the calls made during the day, so as to show, 
in the simplest way, what I saw and heard ? 

Called on Mrs. A. Saw her quite a number 
of months ago. Thought things did not appear 
as comfortable with her now as then. She told 
me the secret. Her husband is intemperate. 
She said, for once, he brought home his week's 
wages on the last Saturday, without spending 
any for drink, and told her that, at the grocer's, 
where he went to get some articles for his little 
family, they had urged him to stay and play 
cards. It seems they have a trap-door in the 
store, and, on lifting it, you find two rooms 
under ground, supplied with tables and chairs, 
and heated by a small stove. A leg of mutton 
was hanging up from the ceiling, as a prize for 
the winner in the game. For once, the man 
was afraid to trust himself to the temptation, 
and went home sober. His wife expressed a 
readiness to go to the neighborhood meeting, if 
I would call for her. 

Called on Mrs. B. Her husband left her, 
with an only child to support, several yeark 
ago. Generally calls herself a widow, as she 
says she does not know whether her husband is 
living or not. Spoke of the subject with as 
much indifference as I now write of it. " How 



M. UNDERWOOD. 



is the fine gold become dim," when the holy 
marriage relation is entered upon/and broken 
away from, with such apparent unconcern. 
Otherwise I thought her a hopeful subject for 
efforts in time to come. She is very poor. Her 
room was almost destitute of furniture, as she 
had only recently attempted housekeeping, hav- 
ing lived out at service since her separation 
from her husband. She seemed ready to con- 
verse on religious subjects. Sends her little 
girl to Sabbath school, and would like to attend 
our neighborhood meetings. 

I made a number of other calls, of a similar 
character, in each of which I found something 
to interest me, sufficiently to make me wish to 
call again. But the details would prove weari- 
some, so I will close by recording a brief account 
of two calls, upon some aged Christian women, 
whom I had never before seen. 

The first, Mrs. P., is a member of an Episco- 
pal church, and seemed truly pious. Her house 
was scrupulously neat, but she is very deaf, and 
could only be made to hear by the use of her 
ear-trumpet, through which I was obliged to 
speak, in a loud, slow, and clear voice. " Is it 
not a great deprivation to be so deaf? " I asked. 
" Why, yes," she said, "it was a great trial at 
first, not to hear the sermon on Sunday. But 



NARRATIVES OF THE POOR. 101 

I do not feel so bad now. I have the prayers, 
you know, in the book, and can hear the sing- 
ing, and I get along very well. I had so much 
rather be deaf than blind ! God is good." 

She wished to have me come again soon, so 
that I might see her husband, she said, for he 
could talk with me easier. 

The other of the two was Mrs. 0. She is 
totally blind — is a widow, lives in an attic 
chamber, and can herself, alone, take care of it, 
and keep it quite tidy and comfortable. She 
was very cheerful. " Is it not sad to be blind?" 
I said. " Why, I don't know as it is," she said; 
" I had a great deal rather be blind than deaf ! 
For now a little girl leads me to church on the 
Sabbath, and I can hear every word of the 
sermon, prayers and all. When I am asleep I 
can see, that is, it seems as if I could, and I am 
happy. Now, I have a sister, and she is well 
off in the world, and is not blind, as I am, yet 
they tell me I am the happier of the two." 
Then, in her simple way, the blind woman went 
on to describe how she felt when first it was told 
her by doctors that she would never see any 
more ; how " her peace flowed like a river," and 
how the Lord had graciously provided for her 
ever since. 

In these cases we have a practical illustration 



102 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

of the truth, that "a man's life consisteth not in 
the abundance of the things he possesseth ; " 
and they also show that the Master can sweeten 
the bitterest cup of affliction, and make his dis- 
ciples not only to bear, but also " glory in infir- 
mities." 

My mind was filled with varied and pleasant 
emotions as I returned home at night; and 
when, on entering my chamber, I found it il- 
lumined by the glowing rays of the setting sun, 
there came to mind, with a new and peculiar 
sweetness, the prophetic promise, "At evening- 
time it shall be light." 



CHAPTER XIII. 

FAILING HEALTH. 

Early in the spring of 1859, Miss Under- 
wood felt an unwonted weariness in attending to 
her daily duties ; and in April was prostrated by 
a sudden hemorrhage from her lungs. The fol- 
lowing letter to Miss F. gives an account of her 
feelings at the time : — 

My dear Friend : How glad I am to be able 
to write you a few lines, though I can not see 
you " face to face." Those flowers you brought' 
me were very beautiful. Their sweetness filled 
my room, and I went to sleep breathing their 
fragrance. They reminded me of one I love, or 
trust I do, — Jesus. 

" I love the name of Jesus, 

Immanuel, Christ the Lord ; 
Like fragrance on the breezes, 
His name abroad is poured." 

I was thinking the other day, as I stood look- 

(103) 



104 " SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

ing at our lily, in the parlor window, that it was 
strange our Lord was not likened to that, rather 
than to so small a flower as the " lily of the val- 
ley." But those w r hich you brought seem to 
teach me why. First, because of their sweet- 
ness, — " His name is as ointment poured forth." 
Second, because of their purity, — He " did no 
sin, neither was guile found in his mouth." 
Again, because of their symbolizing, by their 
lowly drooping, him the " meek and lowly in 
heart," the true " lily of the valley." And then 
they bloom in hidden places ; and of him it was 
written " He shall not strive, nor cry, neither 
shall any man hear .his voice in the streets." 
Sweet lilies, have they not preached me a good 
sermon ? 

I want to tell you how I felt the night I was 
taken sick, — to set up, as it were, a stone of 
memorial of the Lord's goodness. When I 
awoke in the night, and felt the chill from my 
open window, my first thought was, how good 
God is to wake me in season to save me from 
taking cold. A slight crackling in my throat, 
as I went to the window to close it, suddenly 
suggested the thought that I might be raising 
blood ; and on taking a towel from the stand, I 
found, by the dull light of the rainy midnight, 
that I could discern discoloration. As I went 



FAILING HEALTH. 105 

to another chamber, to awaken some of the 
family, I felt no fear, resting on the passage, 
" Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose 
mind is stayed on thee." After lighting a lamp 
for the family to rise by, I went back to my 
room again ; and as I sat on the bed's side, 
wiping the blood from my lips, my text for the 
day came to mind, " Master, carest thou not 
that we perish ? " and it afforded me a consoling 
plea. When the light was brought, the memory 
of the last hymn we had sung at the evening 
meeting came to me, — 

" Thou knowest I love thee, oh, my Lord ! 
But yet I long to soar 
Far from the realms of mortal joy, 
That I may love thee more." 

And a thrill of strange pleasure ran through 
me at the thought of being taken at my word. 
Perhaps the Master was about to let me come 
home. I thought you would like to know of 
this. It is an hour against which I can write 
" Jehovah- Jireh," — for the Lord did provide. 
With love, yourSj 

Susan M. Underwood. 

A state of debility requiring rest led to a sus- 
pension of labor, and a visit of a few weeks at 
Hingham. Her cheerful acquiescence in this 



106 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 






interruption to her work is expressed in letters 
to familiar friends. 

To Miss F. she writes again : — 

My dear Friend: There is nothing I have 
found so hard to do as to control my thoughts. 
Truly, he that ruleth his spirit is better than he 
that taketh a city. To keep the heart with all 
diligence is a life work. No bed of weakness 
discharges us from that warfare. I wish it were 
mine to be pure in heart, like those who shall 
see God. 

" Thou hidden love of God, whose hight, 

Whose depth unfathomable, no man knows, 
I see from far thy beauteous light, 
Inly I sigh for thy repose. 
I can not rest, nor shall I be 
At rest, till I find rest in thee." 

Do you ask me if I regret the sudden disar- 
rangement of my plans for this month ? I can 
not say I do ; only I would love to have gone on 
without interruption, as it seems to me those 
lives effect most that proceed uniformly. But 
my sinful heart needed correction, and I am 
glad the Lord was willing to take it in hand. 
It is great condescension in him to hedge up 
our way with thorns, if thereby we maybe saved 
from destruction. I want to profit by the lesson. 



FAILING HEALTH. 107 

I wish you could see how, as on a festal day, the 
earth is dressed out now, — you who love flowers 
so well. If such the glories of his works, what 
must our Creator be ? It is now near sunset, 
and the fading rays are falling aslant the window 
sill as I write, lighting up the green grass and 
trees with a rich luster. Do you remember the 
hymn, — 

" So gently shuts the eye of day, 

So dies a wave along the shore " ? 

It is sweet ; is it not ? Oh, we have rich re- 
minders of God's wondrous grace in the works 
of his hands. 

To the same : — 

Hingham, June 16, 1859. 

My dear Friend : I am unwilling to let 
another mail go without your receiving some as- 
surance that you are not forgotten. The large- 
typed copy of the Psalms that lies on my table 
serves as a constant memorial of your thought- 
fulness ; while, happily, impaired health has not 
as yet made memory so unfaithful to her trust 
that the many other proofs of your love are for- 
gotten. I sometimes feel that I would like to 
come into the meeting, at the Temple, and see 
you all ; and often imagination lets me come 



108 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

and pass around the circle with friendly greet- 
ing. I wish you would give my love to them 
all ; and let them know how gladly I would 
be there once more. It is just four weeks to- 
day since I was there ! How little I thought 
such an interruption to my work was at hand ! 

I like what you wrote about the shadow of the 
Almighty. It does express nearness. I love, 
too, the " shadow of a great rock in a weary 
land." Is it not a sweet expression when we 
are sore beset with outward and inward trials ? 
One bright summer day, some years ago, in 
company with some young friends, I spent a day 
at the Beach. I was quite out of health ; and 
more than usually susceptible to religious truth. 
I strolled away from the rest, and in the face of a 
large rock half inclosing a little sheet of water, 
which stretched out into the great ocean beyond, 
I found a sheltered place, just large enough to 
get into. There, wholly screened from view, I 
sang with a before unknown delight, — 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in thee." 

I can not tell you how the boundless expanse 
of sea before me, the clear blue sky above, and 
the secure " cleft in the rock," gave me such 
thoughts of infinite love and power; but you 



FAILING HEALTH. 109 

can intuitively understand them in the light of 
your own religious experience. 

To Mrs. D.: — 

June 28, 1859. 

My dear Mrs. D. : Did you know your letter 
found me on my bed, on account of raising 
blood, a second time ? I am now quite well 
again, — that is, pretty well. Once in a while, 
as I look in the glass, there is an appearance 
about my face that startles me. I am not nerv- 
ous ; I think you will understand me, — it is a 
kind of look I have so many times seen on other 
faces that never exchanged it for one of health. 
The doctors apprehend no danger. And would 
it be danger to die ? How strangely such lan- 
guage must sound in angels' ears ! 

The second or third day after I was taken 
sick, a thought of you came to mind, and, in an 
instant, filled my eyes with tears. You know 
what that kind of feeling means. It is said, in 
heaven, God shall wipe away all tears from their 
eyes. Did it ever occur to you, that the sweet 
tears that relieve us in our tenderest hours, that 
come responsive to our most hallowed feelings, 
will be shed even in heaven ; and that the Elder 
Brother, the Beloved, will wipe them away ? 
You know in such tears we often experience the 



110 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

most exquisite joy, — emotions that seem to 
have more of heaven in them than of earth. 
Poorly skilled in the heart's mysteries are they 
who associate all tears with grief. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

VOYAGE TO MALAGA. 

Several weeks passed without a return of 
strength, or any favorable change in Miss XL's 
health, and a voyage to a warmer climate was 
proposed. Through the kindness of friends in 
Boston, arrangements were made for her going 
to Malaga, Spain, under very pleasant circum- 
stances. 

An account of the voyage was given to the 
public through the Hingham Journal, in Novem- 
ber, 1859 ; and as Malaga is out of the ordinary 
lines of travel, and her letters reveal so much 
of her own inner life, as well as the novelties of 
a foreign land, some account of the voyage is 
here subjoined in her own words. 

To Mrs. B. : — 

Malaga Hahbor, August, 1859. 

My dear Friend : Away across the dark blue 
wave is a warm and true heart that sends you 
its greeting to-day. From the inclosed attempt 

(in) 



112 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

at journalizing, you will find that to me life 
at sea revealed its " shady side." For five 
days, we had a boisterous head wind, that 
caused our bark to plunge madly ; and made us 
feel there was but a step between us and death. 
Many of the psalms were very beautiful to me, 
especially the one, " God is our refuge and 
strength." The little prayer of my earliest 
childhood, " Now I lay me down to sleep," has 
often been on my lips, as I folded my arms to 
rest, amid the surging of the waves, the wild 
play of the wind in the rigging, and the quiver- 
ing of our noble vessel. There was a new 
meaning in the oft-repeated words, — 

" If I should die before I wake, 
I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take." 

Do you know when and where I had my pleas- 
antest thoughts of you all ? I can tell you the 
very hour and place. On the third Sunday out 
from Boston, I was able, at seven o'clock in the 
evening, to accept, for the first time, the re- 
peated invitation to a^ prayer meeting, in the 
forecastle. I had not been well all day ; and 
my thoughts had flown to the blessed sanctuaries 
where so many were keeping holy clay. My 
heart truly longed for the courts of the Lord. 
Often before, the thought that nearly all of those 



VOYAGE TO MALAGA. 113 

Lardy men were converted, had caused a strange 
thrill of joy that awakened tears. Often had I 
longed to steal to their door, and bid them God- 
speed ; but I was too sick. That evening I felt 
better, and went. The forecastle was fitted up 
tidily. Every thing seemed to be in its place. 
A lamp, fastened to a beam, shed an imperfect 
light around. The service was begun by read- 
ing the psalm, " Oh, come, let us sing unto the 
Lord ; let us make a joyful noise unto the Eock 
of our salvation." Never shall I forget how, 
when, after singing " I am going home to die no 
more," one of them knelt down and humbly com- 
mitted us to Him who showeth mercy. He prayed 
for the dear friends who were remembering us ; 
and the thought of you, as you gather around the 
family altar, came sweetly to mind, and more 
sweetly came the thought of a cloud of incense 
ascending from sea and land, and mingling 
before the mercy seat. Not a sound was heard 
from without as he rose. The soft evening mist 
wrapped us, as in a vail, but, — 

"More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated over head," 

fell the dews of the Holy Spirit. I was glad 
there was but one lamp, for I could not restrain 
my tears. With probable reference to us, from 



114 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

the cabin, the third chapter of John was then 
read ; and the truth, in a simple way, was 
pressed upon us. My hope and prayer is, that 
of this humble room it may hereafter be re- 
corded, concerning some, " This man was born 
there." Truly, I was not prepared to find our 
ship a Bethel. I hope to be made better by the 
good influence of the example of these sailors. 
My friends thought only of improving my health ; 
but God designed to quicken the spiritual life of 
a passenger by a sailor in the forecastle. 

Malaga, on board the " Young Turk," > 
August 3, 1859. 5 

My dear Mother : I wrote you last in Bos- 
ton harbor. I now write you in that of Malaga. 
As we went into the cabin, for the first time, 
below " Boston Light," the loud ticking of the 
clock sounded so lonesome ! I wondered if it 
ticked so when our friends were on board. But 
the excitement was over ; our friends had gone, 
and we were out at sea. Very soon, I began to 
feel sick. We sailed on the 7th of July ; and 
last Sabbath, the 31st, was the first day in which 
I could say, "I feel well." Those twenty-four 
days of bodily discomfort will not give you the 
idea that I enjoyed the voyage. I was some- 
times very thirsty; then how I longed to go to 






VOYAGE TO MALAGA. 115 

that old oaken bucket again, and wondered if I 
ever should ! 

Now for the sunny side of the picture. We 
had a pleasant company in the cabin ; and much 
of the tediousness of the passage was dispelled 
by their society. The sailors are all pious, but 
two. They have prayer meetings on Sunday 
and Wednesday evenings ; and it would do any 
one good to attend them. It is a new thing for 
religion in the forecastle to invite the cabin to 
prayers ; but, I assure you, it is a good thing. 
One of the men has a library of religious books, 
which he loans among us ; so I hope their good 
influence will make its mark on us all. 

On the 1st of August, I was called up early 
to see the land ; which, upon going on deck, we 
found looming up in high dark promontories, on 
the African coast. We passed into the Straits 
of Gibraltar with a fine breeze, clear sunshine, 
and all hands well. The entrance to the Bay 
and Straits was grand, and yet lovely. A thin 
purple haze, such as I have often observed in 
paintings, half vailed the shore, and added to 
its charms. All along, as we passed up to 
Gibraltar, was seen the watch-towers on the 
lonely headlands, built by the Moors, in the 
days of their pride. Some of them resembled 
old castles, and were very picturesque. The 



116 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

village of Tarifa, with its lighthouse and white 
buildings, nestled, like a bird, close to the sea ; 
while far up the slope was a neat cottage, with 
out-buildings, orchards, and gardens, so like 
those at home, it seemed a New England child 
on the bosom of a Spanish mother. 

But Gibraltar was the crowning picture of the 
day ! Such a rock, standing out, like a giant, 
far into the ocean ; the bright sky overhead ; 
the white, dashing foam around, leaping up and 
singing its wild song, is worth crossing the ocean 
to see. On the opposite coast is a rocky prom- 
ontory. This and Gibraltar form the historic 
" Pillars of Hercules." On its summit is a 
Spanish prison, where the Cuban invaders, 
under Lopez, were confined. 

About midnight, we sailed into Malaga Bay. 
The moon had gone down ; but the sky was 
cloudless, and the stars innumerable. All was 
silent, save the voice of the captain giving 
orders, and the responses of the men. The 
lighthouse, at the entrance of the harbor, sent 
its white and crimson rays over the waters. All 
around were rows of lights, denoting the harbor- 
guards' quarters, which line the city's shore. 
We drew nearer the light, when a boat, with a 
white awning, shot out from the coast, and came 
alongside. It was the pilot's. After he came 



VOYAGE TO MALAGA. 117 

on board, there was a long silence, broken 
only by the ripple of the waves around the ship's 
side, or the pilot's occasional word of command. 
The city loomed up, dark and still. It was a 
strange, wild hour, never to be forgotten ! " Let 
go the anchor," said the pilot. It rattled out, 
and silently sank in the waters. The bell of the 
old cathedral chimed out the hour of two, and 
we were safely anchored at Malaga. In the 
morning, the captain's wife came to my state- 
room, and held up a bunch of grapes, such as I 
had never seen before. It was nearly half a yard 
long, and such beautiful white grapes ! Going 
on deck, there was evidence that we were near 
an " exceeding good land." Fresh figs, plums, 
new potatoes, eggs, mutton, with other fruits 
and vegetables, — oh, what a feast ! All these 
things are brought to us ; for we are in quar- 
antine, and can not go on shore. The weath- 
er is very warm ; though under the awning, 
on the quarter-deck, it is nice and cool. The 
city is worth looking at ; it seems as if I should 
never tire of gazing on it. We are very near 
fhe shore. In front of us is a hill, dark brown, 
and very high ; the city lies at its foot. The 
houses are built of stone, plastered, and painted 
white, green, blue, and yellow. Donkeys in- 
numerable are going about, loaded with men 



118 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

and baggage. My eyes have become stronger ; 
I have no trouble with my lungs, and feel per- 
fectly well. /If any one should be grateful and 
trustful, it is I, who have tasted so much of the 
goodness of God. 

On their arrival at Malaga, the ladies in the 
cabin, one of whom was the wife of the captain, 
decided to keep together on board, rather than 
go to a hotel in a foreign city, and formed a very 
pleasant family. 



CHAPTEE XV. 

MALAGA. 

Saturday Evening. It is moonlight in Malaga 
harbor ; multitudes of boats float about on the 
glassy sea. Not a cloud is in the heavens ; the 
air is balmy, and vocal with numberless voices. 
A large ship — the largest that ever sailed into 
this port — - lies alongside, and its crew have just 
been singing some of their songs., and having a 
merry time in jumping from the deck, a hight 
of twenty feet, headlong into the water. On the 
shore, a company of some three hundred soldiers, 
with a band of music, have just passed along the 
street, and crowds of people throng the principal 
thoroughfares. It is a scene of gayety, life, and 
beauty ! Our own ship is quiet as a New Eng- 
land farm house, where, the busy week ended, 
its inmates prepare for holy time. The captain 
and ladies have gone, this afternoon, to Grenada. 
Our other passengers and the first mate are at 
the city ; and I wander about quite solitary. 
The ticking of the clock sounds lonely. I look 
out upon the main deck ; the moonlight pencils 

(119) 



120 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

the spars and ropes on its neatly washed sur- 
face. The shadow of the Spanish guard falls 
there, just by the forecastle ; while, from within, 
I hear the pious sailors singing " a song of Zion 
in a strange land." 

I am not alone ! I was disappointed to have 
the Grenada party go without me, to visit the 
Alhambra : to see its ruined palaces, flower gar- 
dens, and fountains would have been like an 
Arabian Night's dream ; but I could not go. 
There is a more glorious palace where " God is 
known as a refuge." Thither I trust one day 
to ascend. No regretful glance will then be cast 
toward the fading monuments of earthly gran- 
deur. If faithful, the humblest disciple shall 
walk those golden streets. In the eyes of angels, 
a purer joy dwells among the inmates of the 
forecastle than in the gayest company of tourists 
on the continent. No ; I am not alone ! A 
" household of faith " are gathered in this ship, 
among whom I believe Jesus walks. Deprived 
for the time of earthly society, may I not hope 
for his heavenly companionship ? Happy soli- 
tude, that invites his presence ! Enriching 
poverty, that draws on his fullness. 

First Sabbath at Malaga. Our Spanish guard 
has had his family on board, this afternoon, to 
see him. As they sat, grouped on the main 



MALAGA. 121 

deck, I went out and gave to one of his children 
my penknife, and to another a cologne bottle, 
to show that the u Americans " felt kindly 
toward them. I did not speak ; for they would 
not have understood me. I afterward sat read- 
ing in the cabin, and had just finished this sen- 
tence in the " Better Land:" " Oh, taste the 
grapes of Canaan, before you come to Canaan ! " 
when a timid footfall on the carpet made me 
look up, and there stood the little black-eyed 
Spanish girl, with her apron filled with grapes. 
It was pleasant to witness this illustration of the 
power of kindness. 

The day is drawing to a close. On shore, a 
band is to play martial music from eight to 
eleven o'clock. Crowds of people will throng 
the public walks ; and the Lord's day, in this 
dark land, will close as our holidays do at home. 
The thought of the children of this great coun- 
try growing up into such ways of spending holy 
time, is painful. Oh, when will morning dawn 
in guilty Spain ? 

Friday. We went to-day to visit the cathe- 
dral. It is a large building ; at each corner of 
the front wall is a tower, but one only is finished. 
Ascending the other, you look out on an exten- 
sive prospect of mountains, hills, city, and sea. 
A massive iron door swung open to admit us ; 



122 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

then we found ourselves beneath lofty arches, 
heavily ornamented, with Corinthian columns 
supporting them. Figures of the Virgin and 
saints, without number, adorned every arch and 
column ; paintings filled up the intervening 
spaces. Here and there were altars of alabas- 
ter, marble, and jasper, profusely gilded ; while 
two organs, as high as from floor to ceiling in 
churches at home, stood opposite each other in 
the center. Between them was an inclosure of 
oak, elegantly carved. I noticed two paintings 
only, which I especially admired : one of the 
Holy Family, and the other of the Virgin walk- 
ing on clouds, and surrounded by cherubs. It was 
the hour of vespers, and a group of priests, in 
long black robes with white mantles, were chant- 
ing Latin prayers. The same afternoon we 
visited the English burial ground. 

Sunday. Another delightful Sabbath. A 
fresh breeze spreads out into the sunlight the 
many-colored flags at the mast-heads of ships 
from all parts of the world. Now the silvery 
water of the bay, like a loving mother, bears 
them upon its heaving bosom. Soon, like the 
children of the homestead, they will go out upon 
their several errands. He who taught us to say, 
" Our Father, who art in heaven," alone, will 
behold each little company. " The Lord's eyes 



MALAGA.- 123 

are in every place." In that one touching sen- 
tence, he taught us to recognize the bond of 
universal brotherhood. Not my Father, but our 
Father, who art in heaven. 

Met Mr. and Mrs. EL. of Boston, at the cathe- 
dral, and went with them to the English chapel, 
which is in the large mansion belonging to the 
mother of the English consul, and formerly his 
own residence. The front door of this house 
opens into a court, from which wide flights 
of stairs lead up to apartments above. These 
open upon a stone-paved hall, lighting which 
are high, wide windows, covered with a lattice 
work, interlaced by woodbines, resembling the 
morning glory. The intervening spaces on 
the wall were hung with paintings. The room 
devoted to the chapel is large and airy ; its 
walls painted with colonnades of Corinthian 
pillars and a background of mountains. The 
seats are cane-bottomed chairs, — in front of 
each is a straw cushion, or hassock. 

Wednesday. Accepting the invitation of Mr. 
M., an English gentleman, a party of us accom- 
panied him to-day to his country house at Al- 
haurin. We rose at three o'clock, and took a 
lunch on shipboard ; for a distance of three 
leagues to breakfast required it. Antonio, the 
boatman, waited at the ship's side ; and our 



124 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

coacli-and-four we found at Mr. M.'s house in 
town, and, though very comfortable, it looked as 
though it had traveled " life's hard road" a 
century or more. Built like a carry-all, yet 
having side seats like an omnibus, it was a gro- 
tesque affair, with its old flapping curtains and 
narrow cushions. Our party numbered seven. 
. . . But to the ride. Harnessed into this 
original conveyance were four sorry-looking 
steeds, having two drivers ; one of whom, how- 
ever, turned out to be simply a " beater" of the 
horses. 

After leaving the walls, and passing through a 
long avenue of dusty aloe trees, the road wound 
over brown fields, with scarcely a tree in sight. 
There are no fences or houses scattered along, 
but one wide range of fields, terminated by high 
hills, with here and there a walled village, em- 
bowered in orange, fig, and olive trees. One of 
these towns is the " bread town," the village 
that supplies the city of Malaga with bread. 
The loaves are brought in on the backs of don- 
keys every day. This bread is excellent ; I have 
never eaten any thing made by bakers quite 
so nice. We found the roads narrow and steep, 
and the shallow streams were without bridges. 
As some one has waggishly said, " The rivers of 
Spain are very good rivers, only there is no 



MALAGA. 125 

water in them." There were some country 
houses on the estates of rich merchants, but 
they were " few and far between." 

After a ride of more than three leagues, a 
short bend in the road brought us to as glorious 
a view as I ever looked upon of hills, valleys, 
streams, orchards, and villages. The town it- 
self is very clean, the streets narrow, and the 
houses white. The front door of Mr. M.'s house 
opened upon a tile-paved hall, which in its 
turn opened upon a court yard covered with a 
trellised vine. In one corner of it was an old 
well, with oaken buckets. From this court was 
a long walk covered with vines, and ending in a 
summer house. In the orchard were growing 
dahlias, roses, pinks, balsams, and oleanders, 
with figs, almonds, peaches, apples, pomegran- 
ates, olives, mulberries, sweet potatoes, corn, 
oranges, and lemons. The rooms of the house 
were high and airy, and paved with tiles. The 
windows had balconies looking out upon a grand 
prospect, the beds had lace curtains, and the 
chairs were made of the wood of the lemon tree, 
with flag seats. In the hour before dinner, we 
visited the springs which supply the town of 
Alhaurin with water. A stream, some three 
feet in width, walled in on each side, rippled 
along the streets through which we passed. 



126 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Bare-headed women were kneeling over its 
edges washing their clothes, and spreading them 
on the flagstones. Old women and young 
maidens gathered in groups to gaze at us as we 
passed. The springs, twenty or thirty in num- 
ber, bubbled up in the bottom of a kind of res- 
ervoir, at the upper end of the town. Plights 
of stone steps led down to the water, at the bottom 
of which water-cresses were growing. Feeling 
warm and fatigued, we sat down on a stone seat, 
under the shade of poplar and oleander trees. 
A little girl, of about fourteen, was just going 
down, with her water jug on her shoulder. Mr. 
M. asked her to bring us a drink. Going into one 
of the white-washed houses, on the other side of 
the street, she quickly returned with a tumbler, 
which she brought to us overflowing. Refresh- 
ing as was the water, it was not more so than 
her charming face. She had a clear olive com- 
plexion, and cheeks redder than roses. Her 
eyes were black and sparkling, fringed with 
long eyelashes that gave her a roguish look, 
while her hair was black as the raven's wing. 
Her features were regular, and her teeth like 
ivory. As she stood there, with her old faded 
calico dress, her hempen shoes, trying to talk to 
us, and then laughing to think we could not 
understand a word she said, I thought how far 



MALAGA. 127 

one might travel at home without seeing her 
equal in grace or beauty. Finding we wished 
i)o more water, she bade us adieu, with the dig- 
nity of a queen. 

We were glad to return to the house, for the 
heat was oppressive. Our dinner waited for us ; 
I think we had six courses. Among other 
things, we had the Spaniard's favorite dish, — 
the oleo, — a kind of succotash made of vegeta- 
bles, a rich potato pudding, and a bunch of 
grapes, which, it was estimated, would weigh ten 
pounds. We reached the ship in the evening, 
after spending one of the most interesting days 
I remember. 

Monday. And now, what do I think of Mala- 
ga ? That it is a strange, curious place ; its streets 
narrow, so that in some places we have to step 
into the doors if a horse comes along. Balco- 
nies abound on the dwellings of the better 
classes, in many of which stand pots of flowers. 
The stores are neat, and, though small, well 
supplied with goods. There is one we have 
visited frequently for linens. It looks very 
much like a cellar, having a stone floor and 
white-washed rafters. The ceiling alone is 
papered. Two or three closets, with glass doors, 
contain the nice piles of linen, which the mer- 
chant takes out as we call for them ; unlocking 



128 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

the doors with a little key, which he keeps on 
his writing desk. He looks like a professional 
gentleman, and quite out of place in so simple 
an establishment. Out of this room opens 
another, where, with the old-fashioned loom, 
all these linens are woven by hand. 

The city is indeed a foreign looking place, with 
its long lines of heavily laden donkeys and their 
drivers ; the peasants in leathern breeches, white 
stockings, and hempen shoes. As we walk about, 
children point to our bonnets, saying, " Amer- 
icano ! Americano!" for the senoras wear no 
bonnets, but black mantillas instead, trimmed 
with lace, and caught gracefully on the back of 
the head by gold, silver, or shell pins. All 
carry fans, for which the demand is so great 
that you find stores devoted solely to their sale. 
As a people, the Spanish are remarkably hand- 
some. 

There are numbers of convents, with gates 
and doors opening into the public street. We 
can look in, and see paved court yards, with 
borders of flowers, and every thing very nicely 
kept. My strong desire to visit some of them 
has not yet been gratified. 

Multitudes of soldiers throng the street, in 
neat blue uniforms, gilded caps, and epaulets ; 
while mingling with them and the crowd are nu- 



MALAGA. 129 

merous priests, dressed in long black gowns, and 
hats with rolling brims. The principal street is 
the Alameda. It is wide, has a graveled walk, 
resembling the mall on Boston Common ; and, 
like it, is shaded with trees, though they are 
small in comparison. On this Alameda all 
classes promenade from nightfall till near mid- 
night. Water-carriers go about crying, in a 
sonorous voice, " agua ! agua!" (water), which 
they sell for a penny a glass. 

Sunday, August 4. Spent this day on shore, 
with Mr. and Mrs. H., at the Fonda. This is the 
principal hotel of Malaga, and stands facing the 
Alameda. Went with them, before service, to 
several of the Catholic churches, in two of 
which the ceremony of " grand mass " was 
being performed. We afterwards attended wor- 
ship at the English chapel. 

We sat and read during the afternoon, though 
we were much interrupted by the noise around 
the Fonda ; for it was the day of one of the 
great Spanish bull fights, and consequently more 
riotous than usual. We saw from our windows 
the bull fighters, in their gay dresses, ride off 
to the fight ; also the poor horses destined to 
cruel torture, and turned away heart-sick. In 
this fight alone, nine bulls and twenty-four 
horses were killed. After it was over, the 
9 



130 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

streets were thronged with the returning mul- 
titude, for the amphitheater, which seats ten 
thousand people, is remote from the center of 
the city. The sounds and sights that now met 
our ear and eye were enough to deaden the im- 
pression that it was Sunday, in the devoutest 
heart. 

Tuesday, September 6, was our last day at 
Malaga. From early morning till after night- 
fall, boats had been alongside, heavily laden 
with boxes of raisins, bags of almonds, and cases 
of lemons. The sonorous counting of those 
keeping "tally" had sounded on our ears all 
the day long. Late in the afternoon, a donkey, 
the present of an English gentleman of Malaga 
to Capt. H., had been rowed alongside, and mer- 
rily hoisted in his rough little stable on board. 
Poor donkey ! he little guesses his fate, as he 
stands there so meekly. He has a rough road 
to travel ; but happily, unlike us poor mortals, 
he can not anticipate evil. 

At last, every thing is on board ; it is late in 
the evening. We are to sail to-night. After 
spending an hour with us, Mr. and Mrs. H. have 
just bade us "good-by;" and the captain has 
gone with them to the landing. I go up on the 
quarter-deck to take a farewell look at the city. 
Having loosed from our moorings, we are now 



MALACxA. 131 

so remote from the shore that its sounds scarcely 
reach us. Scores of vessels lie at anchor in the 
harbor, whose waters are placid and clear as a 
mirror. In the background is the high, dark 
hill, with its gray fortress, looking down like a 
sentinel upon the city. The white walls of 
warehouses and dwellings gleam in the moon- 
light, while toward the ocean I see the sails 
of ships " outward bound." It is a beautiful 
picture. Faithful memory, hang it up, in all its 
freshness, within thy walls ! Here what blessings 
have been vouchsafed me: health, pleasant ac- 
quaintances, and scenes visited that I shall 
always love to recall. I try to lift up my heart 
in humble gratitude to the bountiful Giver, and 
renew the dedication of myself henceforth to his 
service. 

The cathedral bell chimes out three quarters 
to eleven ; the fortress soldiers and harbor guard 
respond, one after another, in Spanish, " All is 
well!" I cast one more lingering look, and 
feel, as I go below, that I have bidden " farewell 
to Malaga!" 

Miss Underwood has mentioned the pleasant 
company in the cabin during their voyage out, 
and we have seen them preferring to remain 
together on board during their stay in Malaga. 



132 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

The following letter to her young friends of the 
Winter Street Sabbath school, gives a more full 
description of their floating home : — 

Ox Shipboard, > 

Malaga, August 22, 1859. ) 

My young Friends : Indebted, as I feel myself 
to be, for your kind remembrance of me before 
leaving Boston, I know no fitter way of ac- 
knowledgment than to write you from this dis- 
tant city. Though my letter is dated on ship- 
board, you will not, I hope, associate with it 
ideas of close or uncomfortable quarters, because 
my present home has won my regards, and I 
want it should have yours also. Our convenient 
state-rooms, with their white-curtained berths, 
open into a little" drawing-room of a cabin, with 
sofas and arm chairs, and ventilated by doors 
at either end. These, with the cool quarter- 
deck, covered with its new awning, where we 
sit evenings, and enjoy the moonlit waters, all 
unite in rendering our ship as inviting a home 
in this foreign land as we could ask. 

Last evening was the Sabbath, and the air 
was vocal with the voices of Spanish sailors and 
boatmen, — for the Sabbath is a holiday with 
them, — yet on going to the door I heard, above 
all, the voices of our men singing our own sweet 
hymns. And it is pleasant on a week day to 



MALAGA. 133 

hear even those indifferent to religion, go about 
humming to themselves our sacred tunes. We 
reached here after a sail of twenty-five days. It 
was an interesting thought, that over these wa- 
ters Columbus sailed on his wonderful voyage of 
discovery. Spain is no longer the land she was 
then. 

The city itself is a foreign-looking place. A 
range of high hills lies back of it, crowned with 
a fortress, from which a gray wall runs down, 
surrounding the town. Soldiers are stationed 
at the different gates, and about the city. There 
is an English burial-ground near by, on the 
hill slope, overlooking the sea. All English and 
American seamen, and all English residents, 
dying at Malaga, are buried within this inclos- 
ure. A Gothic lodge guards the entrance, which 
opens upon a smoothly graveled walk, bordered 
by shrubs and flowers. This walk leads up a 
slope to the burial-place, which is laid out much 
like our American cemeteries. The cenotaphs 
and stones are also like our own, except that 
I noticed on the graves of seamen a covering 
of shells laid closely together, which I think 
appropriate. There is a small chapel in the 
grounds, connected with which is the dwelling 
of the Spanish family who takes care of them. 
This seems to consist of an old woman, her 



134 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

son, and granddaughter; Seeing we were tired* 
the old woman made signs for us to come and 
sit down. The door-yard was paved with peb- 
bles, and having been washed, was cool. Here 
the little girl placed chairs for us, and glad were 
we to accept the kindness. Presently the grand- 
mother went out among the shrubbery, and re- 
turned with bunches of grapes, which the little 
girl washed at a spring close by. The man 
climbed a fig tree, and gathered a dish of that 
delicious fruit ; and afterwards, another, of the 
prickly pears, that grow abundantly in the in- 
closure. The little maiden then took the clay 
water jug up the path, and brought us water 
fresh from a spring. As we sat, I looked up to 
the trellised vine and fig tree, and was reminded 
of the Scripture which describes prosperity, by 
every man's sitting under his own vine and fig 
tree. There was abundance of home flowers 
around, and the family gave us bunches of 
them. This portion of the cemetery opens into 
another, which is smaller, with paved walks, 
and surrounded by a white faced wall, with 
woodbine growing over it, while on the sides of 
the paths were pots of rare plants. Standing at 
the head of the main walk, and looking down 
the avenue of cypress trees, with the blooming 
flowers on either hand, and then beyond to the 
blue sea, dotted with white sails, and the clear 



MALAGA. 135 

cloudless sky, it was easier to believe it a 
dwelling-place for the living than for the 
dead. Our party were in excellent spirits, and 
chatted merrily about the Spanish family, their 
cottage, and the flowers ; yet I could not but 
think what heart-breakings had been beside 
those graves, and remember those whose eyes 
fill with tears at the mention of the " English 
burial-ground" at Malaga. 

Here, too, thought I, as we slowly came down 
the sloping walk to the gate, are those who, in 
the judgment day, are some of them to come 
forth to the resurrection of life, and some to the 
resurrection of damnation. How awful is the 
place where death reigns ! I can not tell how 
many times I have been thankful that my 
home is in New England. We who have been 
taught from our youth up in the Holy Scrip- 
tures, will have much to answer for, if we do 
not believe in Him of whom they teach. Let us 
then, by loving and serving our Saviour with all 
our hearts, show our gratitude for the great 
blessings we enjoy in our highly-favored land. 
I trust you will be interested to know that my 
health is restored, and that I hope to return 
soon to my accustomed duties in the city. Once 
again thanking you for your very acceptable gift, 
I remain very affectionately yours, 

Susan M. Underwood. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

SUPPORT IN SICKNESS. 

Miss Underwood returned from Malaga in 
October, and after spending a few weeks at 
Hinghani, resumed her labors as a city mission- 
ary in Boston. 

November 20. For the first time since the 
28th day of May, I this day made calls among 
the poor. Shall I forbear to write down my 
thankful tribute for the mercies which have 
crowned these intervening days ? 

God, I bless thee, through thy Son our 
Lord and Saviour, that thou hast been mindful 
of me in my lowest state. On the sea, in a for- 
eign land, in my own land, have I been upheld 
by thee. In my deepest griefs has been vouch- 
safed to me sustaining and comforting grace, in 
the sorest temptations a door for escape, in my 
hours of gladness some disposition to remember 
the Giver. " Oh, to grace how great a debtor." 
" I love the Lord because he hath heard my voice 
and my supplications." 

(136) 



SUPPORT IN SICKNESS. 137 

It was a sweet privilege to attend once more 
the meeting for prayer at the Temple. How 
earnest and heavenly seemed the petitions, how 
instructive the exhortations, how delightful the 
songs of Zion ! " My soul shall make her boast 
in God ; I will magnify the God of my salva- 
tion." Here, on this day, I raise a memorial 
stone to the Lord. 

" How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! 
How sure is their defense ! 
Eternal Wisdom is their guide, 
Their help, Omnipotence. 

" In foreign realms, and lands remote, 
Supported by thy care, 
Through burning climes they pass unhurt, 
And breathe in tainted air. 

"When by the dreadful tempest borne 
High on the broken wave, 
They know thou art not slow to hear, 
Nor impotent to save. 

"In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths, 
Thy goodness we'll adore ; 
We'll praise thee for thy mercies past, 
And humbly hope for more." 

November 20. The blessed Sabbath day ! 
Once more, God, my feet stand within thy 
holy and beautiful house. Once more I hear 



138 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

the songs of praise swelling beneath its sacred 
roof. But I miss one who ministered there in 
days past. Sad earth, clouds overshadow thy 
brightest days ! The pastor elect interested me. 
The old familiar faces made me glad ; the noon 
Bible class gave me pleasant thoughts, and 
against this day must be written. " Goodness and 
mercy." But I have " nothing to pay " — our 
text for this morning — to offset my rapidly accu- 
mulating debt of benefits. But oh, what a price 
was paid for them, -once for all, on Calvary ! Not 
that we loved God, but that he loved us. 

Monday. Made several calls. All appeared 
glad to see me. Met little Annie E. in the 
street. The child looked surprised. I said to 
her, Did you know I had been sick, Annie ? 
"Yes; a lady told us. I thought you were 
dead." You are glad I am not ? I said. Her 
eyes, I thought, filled with tears, and she did 
not look up, but said, " Yes'm." Could it be 
the child's tears were those of joy ? How un- 
worthy I am of such love. How unworthy must 
I appear to the all-seeing Eye. 

Most auspiciously did her work begin, and 
some of the visits made were of peculiar interest. 
But in less than a week, unexpectedly to herself 
and friends, another hemorrhage from the lungs 



SUPPORT IN SICKNESS. 139 

disappointed all her bright hopes, and laid her 
low. This was a sad visitation, and the first 
effect was depression. But she soon turned to 
her never-failing refuge, and a few days after 
handed to a friend the following poem, which 
shows how the Comforter can bring relief to a 
trusting heart : — 

SONG IN THE NIGHT. 

A beautiful vision arose on my sight, 

And my fond heart had treasured it long ; 
It showed what a Life of this life might be made, — 
How its strife might be changed into song ! 
Ah, beautiful Life ! 
With its strife ever changing to song ! 

It showed me my work was to toil, watch, and pray, 
And help wandering souls to their rest ; 
* The hungry to feed, and the naked to clothe, 
And to make many heart-stricken blest. 
Ah, soul- stirring Life ! 
That could make many heart-stricken blest ! 

I thought, ere I crossed the dark Jordan of death, 

There might, though unworthy, be given 
To me the blest hope that I crossed not alone, 
But bore sheaves for the kingdom of heaven ! 
Oh, sweet-ending Life ! 
Bearing sheaves for the kingdom of heaven ! 

But clouds gather blackness. A mantle of night 
Hides in darkness my vision so free ; — 



140 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

The angry waves moan, as they break on the shore, — 
Peaceful Jordan, this seems not like thee ! 
Alas, stormy Life ! 
Peaceful Jordan, this seems not like thee ! 

As billow on billow doth over me roll, 

Up my heart lifts its suppliant cry, 
"When a voice breaks the storm, the tempest is hushed : 
11 Poor sinner, fear not ; it is I ! " 
Oh, wonderful Life ! 
" Poor sinner, fear not ; it is I ! " 

" The life thou wouldst live, I for thee once have lived, 

And the work thou wouldst do I have done ; 
For debts thou didst owe, I the ransom have paid ; 
Thou with me and the Father art one." 
Ah, thrice-blessed Life ! 
With the Father, the Spirit, and Son ! 

To free grace a debtor, I'll sorrow no more ! 

But my loud hallelujah shall be, 
That, though so unworthy, so helpless am I, 
There is Life Everlasting for me ! 
Oh, glorious Life ! 
There is Life Everlasting for me ! 

Boston, December 19, 1859. 

My dear Mary : I have just received your 
letter, and write an immediate answer, for my 
health is so uncertain that when I am able to do 
any thing it is best to do it then. 

You will be sorry to learn that I have been 
out of the house but once since last Thanksgiv- 



SUPPORT IN SICKNESS. 141 

ing. A more severe hemorrhage than either of 
the two former was the commencement of my 
illness. I have probably closed my missionary 
work in Boston. Like Jonah, I sit and look at 
my withered gourd. It was a beautiful tree, 
that winter plan of mine ; but it is withered and 
dead, roots and all. So you see I am under the 
rod again. I comfort myself in remembering who 
it is that chastens. I love to think, with dear 
Mrs. A., when her daughter died, that " it shows 
the Lord has not forgotten me." Your requests 
moved me for more reasons than one. Up 
above we will talk it all over. And I trust those 
dear friends you mention, may indeed join the 
blissful companionship of saints, for which I am 
hoping in our Father's kingdom. 

I read yesterday " The Inalienable Posses- 
sion/' by Dr. J. P. Thompson. Read it, if you 
have not already. It gives the spirit of joy for 
that of heaviness, and lifts up the hands that 
hang down, and the feeble knees. A friend has 
kindly given me Archbishop Leighton's works, 
and I have begun his Epistle of Peter. I sup- 
pose you are already familiar with it ; if so, you 
will see that I have a feast of fat things. I 
found a cordial for one day, when the waves and 
billows were going over me, in this work. May 
I send it to you ? " God has one Son without 
sin, but no son without suffering." 



142 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Dear Mary, we will not repine if we are to 
be admitted to that class in Christ's school, 
who learn by suffering to comprehend the 
great mystery of his sufferings. The old pic- 
tures in Woodbridge's Geography, of Gibraltar, 
bear but a faint resemblance to the reality, 
as it passed before me on August 1st. More 
vridely different the speculative and the experi- 
mental knowledge of our Lord's sufferings. Do 
you recollect the expression, the " fellowship of 
his sufferings " ? But, alas, my notions are but 
meager, my sight obscure, like the restored blind 
man, who saw men as trees walking, though at 
first I wrote as though I understood. I only 
meant to show that it must be the only way 
fully to understand our blessed Lord, to have 
first suffered ourselves. He who comes out of 
great tribulation, must surely know Christ bet- 
ter than the highest archangel. ... If I were 
to send you a portrait of myself as I am spirit- 
ually, it would be holding a cup overflowing, 
on which is engraved, " Mercies." So I will 
leave the imaginary picture as a sort of souve- 
nir for you to think of me by. . . . 
Your mending friend, 

S. M. U. 

To Miss O, 



SUPPORT IN SICKNESS. 143 

Saturday Evening, November 19, 1859. 

My Dear Miss R. : When at Malaga, I met 
with friends who had previously visited the Isle 
of Wight, where they saw a monument erected 
to the memory of an English princess. She 
was represented as resting on a couch of marble, 
with a Bible for the pillow, opened at the pas- 
sage, " Come unto me all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest." 

I at once thought of you and your " dear 
Lizzie," who, as you felt, pillowed her dying 
head on that same precious text. I hope this 
will find you resting on the Word of life as 
your strong and sure support. If I could say 
all I might of the faithfulness of our Lord to 
me, his unworthy creature, since we last met, it 
would strengthen your faith and kindle your 
love. But in heaven there will be time enough 
to talk it all over. 

" We will roam the sweet fields, on the banks of the river, 
And sing of salvation for ever and ever." 



CHAPTER XVII. 

THE GOSPEL AMONG THE POOR. 

November, 1859. More than a year ago I 
called on a poor American family, supported 
chiefly by the labors of the wife and mother, 
who took in washing. The husband was intem- 
perate and profane, and none of the family 
religious. 

Staying in the family at the time was a lone 
crippled woman, named Caroline, wholly de- 
pendent on charity. She, too, had been, and 
perhaps still was, intemperate. At any rate, 
her past life had not been a virtuous one. I 
was at once interested in her ; why, I know not, 
unless because she was so entirely uninteresting. 
Sometimes just such want of attractions draws 
one by a sort of pity. As though a throb of 
that great heart, that beats for a universe, had 
touched our own, making us to feel, what we 
always know, that a world-wide bond unites 
every creature, and makes all the children of 
one heavenly Father. 

Manifesting this interest in her awakened 

(144) 



THE GOSPEL AMONG THE POOR. 145 

hers in return, and she was soon induced to 
attend the prayer meetings and the Sabbath 
Bible class. She was very ignorant, but appar- 
ently in earnest to find religion. Whatever 
the weather, and perhaps without having tasted 
food for the day, she would creep along, by the 
aid of her crutch, to the place of meeting. 

Shall I plead guilty to a feeling of disappoint- 
ment sometimes, during inclement weather, on 
finding in my class nobody but " poor Caroline " ? 
Shall I confess that, at times, in glancing around 
upon the prayer meeting, she was almost over- 
looked ? Ah, my friends, if it be denied me in 
the future to notice with special attention the 
blind, the lame, and ignorant, let me beg you to 
improve your opportunities to do so, remember- 
ing that God has often chosen these to be rich 
in faith. 

During last winter and spring, Caroline occu- 
pied a bed on the floor of a cold room, contain- 
ing no other furniture.. Here she went to pray, 
and at night, lighting her bit of candle, and 
wrapping her shawl around her, read her Bible 
and the little book " Come to Jesus," which, she 
said, used to help her. 

The inmates of the house laughed at her, 
because she was " getting pious," and Mr. W., 
as she said, " would swear at her dreadfully." 
10 



146 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

" But I mean to try," she added, " until I find 
religion." And she did try, following the 
meetings perseveringly, till she left the city to 
visit some relatives, hoping to stay with them 
until the winter. In the town of A. is a neigh- 
borhood of poor and irreligious families. The 
nearest place of public worship is a Universal- 
ist church, about a mile distant. Here the 
friends lived. Caroline told me she shouldn't 
find much there to help her, but she meant 
to hold on to her Bible-reading and praying. 
This was the last time I ever saw her. She 
returned to the city during my absence, and 
immediately resumed attendance upon the even- 
ing meetings, but, in going home from one of 
them, she fell and was seriously injured. The 
faithful missionary brother, whose ministrations 
she had attended with so much interest and 
profit, was soon by her bedside, and found her 
still loving to read her Bible and to be prayed 
with. She was, however, soon removed to the 
Island hospital, where she now remains. My 
heart goes out to the poor, lonely creature, and 
my feet would gladly go also, if my health 
would allow ; but since it will not, I love to 
leave her in His hands, who notes the sparrow's 
fall, and hears the ravens when they cry, for he 
will not forget her in her low estate. " Like as 



THE GOSPEL AMONG THE POOR. 147 

a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth 
them that fear him." 

A week since, while lying on a sick bed, a 
letter came from the niece with whom she staid 
when out of town, which I transcribe below: — 

* Permit me, although a stranger to you, to 
address you a few lines in regard to Aunt Card- 
line. May the blessing of Heaven attend you 
for the kind interest you have taken in her wel- 
fare, I truly appreciate your calling. It takes 
strong hold of my feelings to see the benefit of 
your kindness and interest in her the past win- 
ter. Your name is always on her lips. She 
thinks if it had not been for you she would 
never have been awakened to a sense of her sin. 
She has not neglected reading her Bible three 
times a day since she has been here, which is 
about eleven weeks, and she is altogether a dif- 
ferent woman. I thought it might afford you 
some pleasure to know you had been the means 
of doing her good. And now she is going to 
return to Boston, as our circumstances will not 
allow us to afford her a home permanently, 
though we would willingly do so if we could. 
But we have nothing except what we earn from 
day to day ; if we had, she should share it as 
long as she tries to do well. She needs encour- 



148 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

agement, and I humbly entreat you. if she is in 
your vicinity, to feel the same interest for her 
that you have done. ... I hope you will excuse 
the boldness I have taken in writing to you, 
yet I thought it was but right to express my 
gratitude for what you have done for aunt Car- 
oline. And I can not but admire the religion 
<which partakes so much of our Master's spirit, 
" who went about doing good " in by-lanes and 
alleys, recognizing in each form, though fallen, 
a brother or a sister. He said, when on earth, 
" The poor ye have always with you," and 
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of 
the least of these my brethren, ye have done 
it unto me." 

I shall have to close my letter by wishing you 
the choicest of Heaven's blessings for your pure 
and humble life. 

S. J. B. 

Fully aware of my unworthiness of commenda- 
tions which this letter contains, I feel that the 
City Missionary Society deserves them, and am 
glad that from a town many miles distant, such 
a grateful tribute can be sent up to its worth. 
Go on, then, beloved friends, hopefully in your 
work. " Sow beside all waters," and rest 
assured that, though the seed may not germi- 



THE GOSPEL AMONG THE POOR. 149 

nate under your own eye, if sown in faith, it is 
surely destined to bring forth fruit. 

" You may not be missed, if others succeed you, 
To reap down the fields which in spring you have sown. 
Who plows and who sows is not missed by the reaper : 
He is only remembered by what he has done ! " 

To the Ladies of the Benevolent Sewing Circle at 
Winter Street Church. 

Dear Friends : I have to acknowledge from 
you the receipt of nearly fifty garments, which 
I distributed the last winter and spring among 
the poor. It would be needless to designate the 
persons benefited by your charity, and equally 
so to assure you that the gifts called forth a 
grateful response. It was a privilege thus to 
stand between giver and receiver, most happy 
in affording pleasant interviews with so many of 
you, and in enabling me to serve the poor. 

I had hoped that during the present winter 
these pleasant duties would be again enjoyed. 
But God orders otherwise. It is well. Allow 
me, in conclusion, to refer to one only of those 
who shared your bounty. Some of you have 
often in other ways remembered her. Your 
visits to her bedside, your generous efforts 
to relieve her necessities, are recorded else- 
wher-e. 



150 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

One day, while distributing tracts in a dirty 
and crowded neighborhood, where I had not 
found one Protestant family, I was asked by a 
poor Irish woman if I would not go up to the 
room above her own, and call on a sick woman. 
" May be she'll be glad to see ye," she said. 
" Is she poor ? " I asked. " Pretty poor, I'm 
thinking," she replied, sadly shaking her head, 
" but as nice a woman as ever ye se'ed." Then 
lowering her voice, she added, " But she's 
a Catholic; she'll take. none o' yer tracts." 
Both the words and manner of my informant 
made me somewhat doubtful as to the recep- 
tion I should meet with, so it was not with- 
out some misgiving that I went up to the sick 
room. It was at the end of a narrow passage, 
smoky, dark, and dirty. To my hesitating 
knock, a hollow voice responded, " Come in;" 
and on entering the tidy room, I saw in the cen- 
ter of it, the sick woman leaning back in her 
rocking-chair, pale and weary. Near the win- 
dow sat a rough looking man, who I afterwards 
learned was her husband. " Will you take a 
seat, ma'am?" said the woman, pointing to a 
vacant chair. I sat down and inquired about 
her health. She was evidently not very well 
pleased to see me. I avoided all allusion to 
religious subjects, and sought to win her confi- 



THE GOSPEL AMONG THE POOR. 151 

dence by sympathy and kindness. She inter- 
ested me at once. Her high, smooth forehead, 
and bright, clear, hazel eye, gave her a look of 
more than ordinary intelligence ; and the sensi- 
ble answers to my questions, and almost entire 
freedom from Irish brogue, confirmed me in the 
belief that I had no ignorant mind to deal with. 
She looked suspiciously at my tracts, but said 
nothing. Her husband was also sick, having 
had a bad cough for a long time. He was with- 
out suitable clothing for cold weather, and I 
suggested some flannels would perhaps be 
acceptable. At this, a flush rose to the pale 
cheek of the wife, and with tears in her eyes, 
she replied, " I'd never thought we should 
come to this. If I was but well we'd not take 
any* thing/' I pitied her, for easily could I 
guess how hard the thought of dependence was 
to a spirit like hers. I tried to make her feel 
that it was no disgrace to be helped when God 
made her helpless, then left, promising to see 
her again. 

This was but one of many visits made to that 
upper chamber. Reserve and distrust gradually 
gave place to confidence and love, and it was 
not long before I was nowhere surer of a wel- 
come than in that humble abode. Looking upon 
this poor Papist, simply as I should on one of 



152 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

our own people, destitute of a saving knowledge 
of the truth, I endeavored to show her the way 
to the cross. How eagerly those expressive 
eyes looked up into mine, as I tried to tell her 
what it was to believe in Christ. I remember I 
once said, " Try to imagine what you would do 
if our Lord was truly in this room. You would 
fall at his feet, would you not, and say, ' Lord, 
I believe.' Go, then, in spirit, just in the same 
way, and he will receive you." " And you 
know," she said, with animation, as if catching 
the thought, " he told Thomas, ' Blessed are 
they that have not seen, and yet have believed.' " 
At another time she said, " I'm thinking what a 
pleasant thing 'tis to be the Lord's wholly ; but 
I've so many things to trouble me, that I can't 
be, — my husband and children, and we jtoor, 

and all " She paused for a moment, then 

added slowly, " but it must be a blessed thing." 
One day when I called to see her, there was an 
air of unwonted cheerfulness about the place. 
" You seem quite bright to-day," I said, as I sat 
down by her. " Oh, yes," she replied, " I'm 
pretty well to-day ; " then pointing to several 
packages on the table, said, " that gentleman 
you sent yesterday brought them. The Lord 
reward them that's good to the poor, and he 
will," she added, with tearful eyes and quivering 



THE GOSPEL AMONG THE POOR. 153 

lips, " for he says, you know, Whosoever gives a 
cup of cold water shall not lose his reward." 

These interviews, so interesting to me and I 
trust profitable to her, were interrupted by my 
own sudden sickness and subsequent departure to 
a foreign shore. But nearest to my heart, as the 
bird presses closest under its wing the wounded 
nestling, I carried the case of this suffering 
woman. In the dreary night watches, amid the 
wild dash of the waters, thoughts of her filled 
my eyes with tears, constraining me to lay her 
case before Him, whose eyes are in every place, 
and who could minister unto her abundantly, 
above all that I could ask or think. On my 
return I was surprised to learn she was still liv- 
ing, and though myself feeble, I resolved to go 
and see her. With many thoughts of what had 
passed since I last was there, I passed under the 
old arch, and up the broken stairways, to her 
chamber. As soon as she saw me, before I 
spoke her name, she raised her wasted arms, 
and with tears streaming down her sunken 
cheeks, exclaimed, " Oh, Miss Underwood, how 
glad I am to see you ! " I could not speak, but 
sat down by her bedside, and we wept together 
At length I told her that I had prayed for and 
loved her through all my sickness, and out upon 
the mighty deep, and that I had thought the 



154 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Lord had taken her to himself before this. But, 
I added, " he will take you if you truly believe 
on him." "I — think — he — will," she re- 
plied, with broken voice and panting breath, 
" for — he — says, — Ask — and — ye — shall 
— receive, — knock — - and — it — shall — be — 
opened — unto — you." Then clasping her 
hands together, and looking upward, with her 
cheeks still wet with the falling tears, she said, 
solemnly, " I believe — in the merits — of my — 
almighty Redeemer. I trust — he will have — 
mercy on my soul." Prom my inmost heart I 
believed he would, and that she would shortly 
be in the presence of his glory. She died soon 
after. I never saw her again. Fed only on 
" the crumbs that fell from the Master's table," 
she was, by them, I believe, made " wise unto 
salvation," and is now, I doubt not, numbered 
among that, blessed company who " eat bread 
in the kingdom of God." 

S. M. U. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

LETTERS. 

All the time Miss Underwood lived in Boston, 
as city missionary, her home was in one family, 
where she not only received kind personal atten- 
tions, but her labors were lightened by the en- 
couragement and facilities constantly afforded 
her. She was taken sick there, and when a 
little recovered went to East Boston on a visit, 
and there had another attack of hemorrhage. 
Sick and depressed as she was, she wrote the 
following letter, expressing, as few can do, her 
grateful affection for the friends she had left : — 

My dear Mrs. B. : How my heart worries to 
see you. Ah, such friends as you and yours 
have been to me I shall not often find. Like a 
prize tree in a horticulturist's garden, I look at 
the friendship that is rooted at No. 223, and 
taste with delight its pleasant fruit. I may find 
those who weep w^hen I weep, much as you 
would, but those who rejoice when I rejoice are 
not so common. How you seemed to love to 

(155) 



156 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

have me noticed, how eager you were to believe 
all good, and no evil of my poor life, how pa- 
tient with me in every way. But I shall cry, — 
yes, that is the very word, if I dwell upon it, — so 
I will stop. Do not think, from this rather som- 
ber introduction, that I am not as well as I have 
been, for I truly am a good deal better, only 
children, who are not wholly weaned, are apt to 
be fretful and unreasonable. I have not, you 
see, reached the state that Mr. T. and the 
Psalmist had attained, when both said, in times 
of trial, u My soul is even as a weaned child" — 
" weaned of his mother." 

Yours, S. M. U. 

East Boston. 

My dear Friend : I am going to let my pen 
talk with you for a while, hoping it may drop at 
least some one pleasant or profitable thought. 
I have been on the " mending hand," but last 
Saturday night I was apprehensive of another 
hemorrhage. After taking the usual remedies, 
" I laid me down and slept, and awaked, for the 
Lord sustained me." I hope those ugly pains of 
yours have taken to themselves wings and gone. 
But if not, they will, I trust, help to wean you 
from this burdensome flesh, and make you long 
to be free. I inclose a letter received from , 



LETTERS. 157 

in which you will find evidence that you have 
brethren who " toil in rowing," as well as your- 
self. Happy for you both if you hear, in the 
midst of the storm, the voice of the Master say- 
ing, " It is I, be not afraid." 

When I think of the great company who have 
fought the good fight, and got safely home, I am 
almost impatient to be among them. To see 
Abraham, Jacob, David, Isaiah, Daniel, and all 
the prophets ; to see John, Paul, Peter, and 
the holy women of old ; to see the brightness 
of the Father's glory, and the express image 
of his person ; to know the full design of his 
dealings with us here on earth; to begin to com- 
prehend the length, breadth, and depth of his 
love to usward, — these are the promised posses- 
sions, in exchange for earth, with its sickness 
and death. Is it not reasonable that we should 
begin to be homesick ? Yet the passage thither 
is what we fear. If we could stand among them, 
translated as holy Enoch was, we would fain be 
gone speedily ; but the valley of the shadow 
of death is dark and strange to us ; we shrink 
back, and cry, " Not yet — not yet." Ah, we 
are faithless. As though a pilot would leave 
a ship in the midst of breakers, as though a 
mother would drop her child into the raging 
waves just as she had borne it safely across 



158 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

them ; as if a master builder would leave his 
work just as the top stone was to be laid, ■ — even 
so would it be *br Him, who hath begun a good 
work in us, to leave it in the most critical hour. 
No, I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, 
nor things present, nor things to come, shall be 
able to separate us from this love of God in 
Christ. Therefore we need not fear passing 
through the dark river. iC For when thou pass- 
est through the waters, they shall not overflow 
thee." I hope to hear you are much better. 
With love to the household of Gains, 

I remain yours, S. M. U. 

To Mr. b. 

Longwood, January 4, 1860. \ 

My dear Mrs. D. : You may be sure I have 
not forgotten the valuable gift I received from 
you last Monday, although I have neglected so 
long to acknowledge it. As you may suppose, 
the last few weeks have found me " passing 
through the cloud." " Deep has called unto 
deep ; all the waves and billows have gone over 
me. Yet the Lord hath commanded his loving 
kindness in the day time, and in the night his 
song has been with me." Had it not been thus, 
I should have fainted in my day of adversity. 
You know there are times when the winds of 
affliction blow from every quarter. McCheyne 



LETTERS. 159 

says, at such moments, we are to remember this 
Scripture, " Be still, and know that I am God ! " 
Like the patient under the knife of the surgeon, 
our only security and duty is, to lie still. How 
much it sometimes costs to do this ! Lately my 
thoughts, like feeble birds, have fluttered around 
the nest, unwilling if not unable to stretch their 
wings and soar even so far as is requisite to 
write a letter to a friend. 
To Mrs. M. F. D. 

Sabbath Day, January 29, 1860. 

I have just finished " Catharine," and must 
write down for the friend who furnished such 
food for this day of weakness, some of the 
thoughts that it suggested. I was thinking 
how many of our severest trials we are called 
upon to pass through alone. Earthly friends, 
with their tender offices, alleviate many an hour 
of sadness and pain, but yet there are hidden 
griefs that weigh heaviest, often, when removed 
from their fellowship. And even were they with 
us, we ought not, could not, tell them the secret 
springs of our grief. We must meet the trial, 
and grapple with it alone. Still, if we belong 
to the family of which Christ is the elder brother, 
we are not alone. The arrow that pierces us, 
pierced him also. And in this connection, a 
new light shines upon that passage of grand and 



160 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

mysterious import : " I have trodden the wine 
press alone, and of the people there was none 
with me." Only of him can it be truly said, 
He was alone. The wilderness, wherein for 
forty days he wandered, and then was afterward 
tempted, tells of it ; the solitary place, where 
he went out a great while before day, tells of it ; 
Gethsemane's blood-sprinkled turf tells of it ; 
Calvary's cross, and the agonized cry that went 
up therefrom, tells of it. Yes, Christ, the only- 
begotten of the Father, and the express image 
of his person, suffered alone. I am comforted 
while I wonder ! He passed through a darker 
room than he calls any of his disciples to enter. 
He drank to the dregs a bitterer cup than he 
offers to any of us. " He was made a curse for 
us." And, therefore, is he our peace. Let us 
adore his wondrous love, and courageously fol- 
low the thorniest, loneliest path, for we shall 
assuredly hear his voice, and sing, ofttimes, joy- 
fully, " Though I walk through the valley of 
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for his 
rod and his staff they comfort me ; " Good 
night, till then. 

" For the way, though 'tis rough, 
"Will end before long, 
And then, oh, how sweet 
The Conqueror's song." 

S. M. XL 
To Mrs. W. 



: 



LETTERS. 161 

Long^vood, Saturday, A. M., > 
February 11, 1860. J 

My dear Mrs. D. : How can I ever thank you, 
or my other kind friends, sufficiently, for your 
thoughtful remembrance of me, expressed both 
by deed and word, in your note of yesterday. 

Mr. Thompson says, " We can not always ex- 
press here below all we feel, but up above there 
will be no impediment to the free outgushings 
of a full heart." 

Neither you, nor those other beloved friends, 
would wish to feel that all my gratitude had 
been exactly weighed out in words. One of the 
attractions of the Sacred Writings, doubtless, is 
found in our believing them to.be but so many 
exponents of a knowledge and love that is un- 
fathomable. 

My chapter, in course, for this morning, was 
Romans xii., commencing, " I beseech you, there- 
fore, brethren, by the mercies of God." I felt 
that I could respond, " Yes, by the mercies of 
God I am constrained to serve him." 

I have a quaint old book, printed in Halle, 
Germany, some hundred years ago, called Bo- 
gatsky's Spiritual Treasury. You have a copy 
of the same, probably, as it has been reprinted 
in this country. The copies of the Americaa 
edition I find differ somewhat from mine. But 
11 



162 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

I was quite interested to know what my old 
friend had gleaned for me from the sacred Ora- 
cles for to-day ? And what do I find but the 
following : — 

" Light is sown for the righteous, and gladness 
for the upright in heart." 

" Unto the upright, there ariseth light in the 
darkness; He is gracious, and full of compassion, 
and righteous." 

" Cast not away, therefore, your confidence, 
which hath great recompense of reward, for ye 
have need of patience ; for yet a little while and He 
that shall come will come, and will not tarry." 

It is impossible for you to know what mean- 
ing these words Convey to me. It is as though 
the gracious Visitant at Bethany had come be- 
neath our so much more " unworthy roof," and 
said, with the tender emphasis his lips alone 
can speak, " Martha, Martha, thou art careful 
about many things, but one thing is needful." 
" Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst be- 
lieve, thou shouldst see the glory of God." 

I am glad to bear my testimony to the faith- 
fulness of this "Friend above all others." Oh, 
Mrs. D., Christ is a reality to me ! But I must 
briefly (turning from Him, who might well 
oiaim all the space remaining) allude to one of 
his " disciples." 



LETTERS. 163 

I sent word to Mr. Thompson that Mr. Rich- 
ards was in Palestine, and that the voice of that 
other shepherd I knew not, and when sick, " I 
flee from the voice of strangers." He respond- 
ed to the message by calling the next day. 

To Miss F. : — 

March 17, 1860. 

Sometimes I am well able to see a friend or 
two in the morning ; but by afternoon I feel 
rather tired, and then several come about the 
same time. I try to refer the matter, however 
trifling it seems, to the same overruling hand 
that raises me to health, for " even the very 
hairs of our head are all numbered." Oh, the 
change between earthly and heavenly living! 
No weariness, no ill-timed meetings, but all our 
powers, in uninterrupted vigor, and then, as Mr. 
T. says, " the abundant leisure of heaven, 
where there is time enough to say all we feel, 
and the power to say it." 

I thought of you, Wednesday evening, and 
was glad the heavens " starred " out for your 
benefit. My thoughts, however, were more with 
that other one " we love, who is sick." I re- 
membered the last gathering we had was at the 
house of Mrs. S., and as we were about ready 
to go, I stood looking out of the window, when 



164 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

you came and took my hand in yours. I was 
thinking then of the sisters in the palace Beau- 
tiful, where Christian tarried for a night, and 
slept in a chamber, the name of which was 
"Peace." Our pleasant earthly sisterhood is 
doubtless, erelong, to be a broken band, but may 
we not believe the tie will be again acknowl- 
edged, at that future day, when all shall have 
got home to the house of many mansions. 
Yesterday was my birthday. 

*« Thrice ten years have passed away 
Swiftly since my natal day. 
All made up of hopes and fears, 
Thickly strewn with smiles and tears. 
Standing here and looking back, 
On the narrow winding track, 
On the joys so quickly fled, 
On the flowers all pale and dead, 
Yet I would not call back one 
Of the years for ever flown. 
All so tainted o'er with sin, 
Foes without, sad doubts within, 
Ever wandering from the Lord, 
Ever grieving thee, my God ! 
All now gone, the sad and bright, 
Some were tinged with rainbow light, 
Some were dark with clouds of woe, 
All now vanished, — let them go." 

These are a part of some birthday lines writ- 
ten by an invalid friend. Are they not sweet? 



LETTERS. 165 

* To Mrs. M. F. D. : — 

Wednesday, April 18, 1860. 

My dear Friend : Some one brought me a 
bunch of the fragrant mountain-laurel, this 
morning, and as I was breathing its sweetness, 
a thought of one whose image you can see re- 
flected in your mirror, came pleasantly to mind. 
Now what you have to do with those fragrant 
blossoms, I do not pretend to say, yet they did 
whisper about you, and reminded me, that I 
had better write you a line to-day. So, though 
no believer in fairies, yet when they tell me to 
do something so very agreeable, I can not but 
obey, and I can only wish they had, for your 
sake, told me just what to say. As they have 
only, however, given me a text to discourse 
upon, I must needs branch off into the subject 
matter, on my own responsibility. I did not 
forget you in your hours of bereavement. Ah, 
those hours have not ceased to come and go 
even now. That sick chamber is vacant, to the 
eye of sense, but to you, it will long be a hal- 
lowed spot. I was thinking to-day, if angels do 
visit this world of ours, how easy it would be 
to believe dear Milly's mother is often the 
bearer of unseen, but not unfelt consolation, to 
the faithful foster-mother of her now, we trust, 
angel child. You have sown a great deal of 



166 • SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

precious seed, that I believe you and yours are. 
to reap in an abundant harvest. 

I found a good deal of real comfort in u John 
Bunyan's Life," for which I thank you. You 
seem to minister to my happiness a good deal, 
without being fully aware of it. Many a sick 
and otherwise profitless hour was made sunshiny 
with the quaint, yet spiritual messages, that came 
first from Bedford jail. I am reading Arch- 
bishop Leighton, and find him a rich treasure. 
He was my father's favorite author. Your 
"German hymns" I have undertaken to commit 
to memory, but find them rather hard. The 
course of Bible reading, laid out by McCheyne, 
I have also followed since the beginning of the 
year, and like it much. And you must not 
smile if I conclude the category by saying, I 
have begun to learn more thoroughly the As- 
sembly's Catechism. You may think it time to 
" put away childish things ; " but I am thinking- 
many a child in the days of Edwards was a bet- 
ter theologian than some of our present divines. 
At all events, as this is a day when error is com- 
ing in like a flood, it is well for those of us who 
see the danger to build up the barrier that shall 
keep us from ruin. 

But do not forget that among those who write 
themselves " yours truly," none do it more sin- 
cerely than S. M. -TT. 



LETTERS. 167 

Two months later brought the following im- 
promptu to the same friend : — 

A heart sent forth a venture, 

A searching for a friend, 
In whom the varied graces 

In union rare should blend. 

Bight prosperous was the venture, 

In finding what it sought, 
And " homeward bound " it merrily 

A precious treasure brought. 

The heart that sent the venture 
Was mine, unworthy mine ; 
The heart it found by sending, 
"Was thine, beloved, thine. 
Andover, June, 1860. 

JTo Miss F. : — 

April, 1860. 

Whose thoughtfulness but yours, my dear 
friend, has supplied me to-day with a breath 
from the spring wild woods ? One loves to catch 
the sweet perfume as it steals from the delicate 
blossoms. What tender memories of days when 
we were young do they awaken. I thank you 
for them, and more for the love that prompted 
you to bring them to cheer me. But ought I 
to mention my disappointment at not seeing 
you, when you left so pleasant a souvenir ? 



168 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

I feel that these hours of quiet retirement 
are golden ones, and just as the mariner spreads 
every sail to catch the favoring breeze, I feel 
disposed to make the most of convalescent 
hours to speed me heavenward. I have been 
feeling of late with Paul, " We are made a spec- 
tacle to men and angels; " and the sudden ques- 
tion has rushed to my lips, " Wherefore, Lord ? " 
I see the way so strangely uncertain in the fu- 
ture, and yet I dare hardly speak of it, lest I 
appear to doubt in regard to its being all clear 
to Him with whom I have to do — lest, after 
having preached to others on faith in an all-wise 
overruling of the smallest events, I myself should 
become a castaway, and the reproachful question 
be set home to me by the unbelievers, " What 
do ye more than others ? " Oh, how I wish I had 
been more faithful in times past, then I could 
have borne this test hour better. I hope you 
will daily, by faithfully serving your Master, be 
fitted to weather the stormy day, when it shall 
come to you. A ship in good repair bears the 
gale best. Take care of the little rents in the 
canvas. A small hole for the wind to whistle 
through became the avenue for the whirlwind 
when our mainsail waa blown away off the coast 
of Newfoundland. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

CHANGE OF EMPLOYMENT. 

It now became manifest that she had not 
health and strength to perform the duties of a 
city missionary. It was a painful decision to 
give up laboring for those in whom she had be- 
come so deeply interested. This was her favor- 
ite employment. But she found that she must 
walk carefully, with sudden prostration con- 
stantly overhanging her path. As soon, how- 
ever, as she was a little better she was buoyed 
up by hope, and her cheerful temperament led 
her to anticipate more days of usefulness. She 
was not willing to be idle, when so much was 
to be done in the vineyard of her Lord. She 
wished also, by her own efforts, to meet her 
expenses. She writes, u The spirit of honest 
independence we inherit from our Puritan fa- 
thers, and it is a lawful spirit. Dependence 
may wear silken chains, but it is dependence 
still." After several weeks of feebleness, vainly 
trying to perform more active duties, she went 
to Andover, and resolved to employ her pen, as 

(169) 



170 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

a means of doing good, and securing that " hon- 
est independence " she so much admired. 

The following letter, though of later date, 
while it acknowledges the kindness of a friend, 
shows how she was employed, and how consci- 
entiously she regarded her time and talents, as 
consecrated to doing good : — 

To Dr. B. : — 

Andover, November 23, 1860. 

Dear Friend : It is now nearly a year since 
you first suggested to me to make my pen a 
means of support. You do not realize, perhaps, 
the struggle it cost me to meet that suggestion 
with fortitude and hope. I could not believe 
that it was possible for me to write acceptably 
enough to receive remuneration. You patiently 
removed, one after another, the obstacles I placed 
in the way, held up to my view a bright picture 
of the future, and when you found me resolute- 
ly shutting my eyes to it, was patient still. 

Whenever I was willing to talk about it, you 
never wearied in devising the most feasible 
methods for its accomplishment. And when, at 
last, you found I had actually gone to work, 
you forbore to question. How I thank you for 
this ! The human heart is a sensitive thing, and 
there are times when it writhes under ques- 
tioning. 



CHANGE OF EMPLOYMENT. 171 

About the time I came to Andover, I com- 
menced a series of articles on Spain, for young 
people. These formed the " first round in the 
ladder." But I could not stay in Spain all my 
life, and yet what could I do ? 

The department of practical religious writing 
was already filled, and novels I would not write. 
About this time, a friend wished me to write an 
article for the Andover Advertiser. In one of 
my morning walks, while devising what I could 
write about, an old farm-house suggested the 
outline of " Mark Goldsmith's Lesson." I re- 
turned home and finished it, but it was too long 
for the original purpose, so I sent it to the editor 
of the Christian Watchman. Providentially he 
was away from the city just then, and a letter 
which he sent me immediately on his return, I 
did not receive for some time. Meanwhile, the 
story was published and, one Saturday I received 
a copy. It was an article which had no direct 
religious aim, and one on which I could not ask 
the blessing of God. The next day was the 
Sabbath, bright and serene as Sabbaths are on 
Andover Hill. Under its subduing influence, I 
would look calmly at the whole matter. A door 
seemed opening upon a course that would doubt- 
less be remunerative, in a pecuniary sense, 
but might I lawfullv enter it ? I was not left 



172 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

long in doubt. He who never suffers those who 
stand in covenant relations to him to be tempt- 
ed " above that they are able," opened another 
door of escape. Yet not, I trust, until I had 
grace to lay the half-formed purpose to go for- 
ward in a doubtful course on the altar of 
sacrifice. 

That very week brought the letter, so long 
delayed, from the editor of the Watchman, 
wherein, after expressing his satisfaction with 
the article, and mentioning his terms, which 
were unexpectedly liberal, he went on to say : 
" Please continue to write, if your health permits. 
Give us sketches, written in the easy, genial 
style of the one before me, but let your purpose 
be, in the delineation of character, to enforce 
some lesson in morals, which, if remembered, 
will be of practical, e very-day benefit to the 
reader. This is our only purpose in using 
sketches, and not simply to entertain the 
reader. Please give us your best writing. We 
would rather pay a larger price for a highly- 
finished article, than less for one not so mer- 
itorious. There are plenty of commonplace 
sketches to be obtained ; such we do not want; 
and I have no fear that' you can not give us 
sketches equal to our standard. ' The better the 
article, the higher the remuneration,' is our rule, 
which I trust will be an acceptable one to you." 



CHANGE OF ExMPLOYMENT. 173 

The veil was now lifted, and a path, humble 
and unobtrusive, but in which I might safely 
walk, opened before me. I could write such 
articles, and ask on them the blessing of Him, 
who taught the people in parables. 

My friend, my literary bark, to use your own 
language, is now launched, as I believe, under 
the eye of the great Pilot, who will guide it 
safely from the shoals and quicksands of a dan- 
gerous popularity on the one hand, and from 
inglorious failure on the other. 

For the encouragement that has brought me 
thus far, I am mainly indebted to you, and in 
the success that may attend me in the future, 
you have a right to a personal gratification. 

Looking back, then, to the past, and forward 
to the opening prospect, what can I write my- 
self, but your obliged and grateful 

Susan M. Underwood. 

Soon after going to Andover, she writes, — 
" There is a kind of inspiration in these hills 
which gives vigor to mind and body. I don't 
know how long I shall be content without a 
sight of my Boston friends, but i true love can 
live on long remembrance,' and I trust the 
friendships which link me to them are of a na- 
ture that will bear the test of absence. 



174 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

" I walk out a short distance every day, and 
when the air is warm, I find some sheltered spot 
where I sit down, on a rock, in the sun, and 
enjoy the beautiful scenery. At such times I 
recall one with whom I used to ride in the days 
of my childhood, through these very streets and 
lanes, and think what tenderness he would now 
have for me were he still alive. But our heav- 
enly Father can never die." 



Letter from one of the Patients in Our Lord's Hospital 
to the Household of Faith at "No. 223." 

Our Lord's Hospital ! and where may that 
be ? you ask, my friends, and as you ask, your 
mind's eye runs through the crowded wards of 
some of those spacious buildings, set apart by 
public charity, in our large cities. But not 
there will you find the blessed retreat of which 
I write, for it is broad as the earth, and embraces 
the sick bed of every believer. When you, too, 
beloved, chose first the kingdom of God and his 
righteousness, the " all things then added unto 
you," included a title to its blessed privileges ; 
and when the hour of pain and languishing 
comes, you will also find" a balm in Gilead," a 
Physician there, who will make all your bed in 
your sickness, and put underneath you the ever- 
lasting arms. 



CHANGE OF EMPLOYMENT. 115 

Gome spend a day with me, and testify if I do 
not tell you truly. 

As I wake to the consciousness of the new 
day, the bright rays of the morning sun are 
glancing through my southern window. I soon 
hear a light step, and my invalid friend from 
the next room, steps within the door, and says, 
here is the text for the day : — 

" I, even I, am he that comforteth you ! " 

Too languid to respond, my heart drinks in 
the heavenly nourishment, and like dew upon 
the mown grass, and like showers that water 
the earth, it brings refreshment and rest. 

Then loving hands bring to the door sweet 
flowers from the autumn garden. How beau- 
tiful they are ! Upon all, the eye rests with 
delight, from the gorgeous dahlia to the pure 
snowberry, and the asparagus that bends as the 
light breezes sweep in at the window. 

Then comes my gentle friend again, to read 
the day's 'chapters, beginning with, " Let not 
your heart be troubled." She finishes the con- 
soling message, and leaves me alone again, but 
shortly returns, for the busy world from without 
has sent its offering. A letter from a hand that 
can find time, amid many cares, to pen lines 
to the absent. As they are read ; one, two, 
three, four, five, six Christian friends are men- 



176 SUSAN M. USDERWOOD. 

tioned ; and the blessed thought comes of the 
great company, which no man can number, 
that will be gathered at last on Mount Zion, 
where, with seraphic swiftness, spirits of just 
men made perfect shall bear their own heav- 
enly communings, " knowing as they are known," 
untrammeled and free. 

The day wears on. There is a ring at the 
door. It is the village pastor, who calls to in- 
quire for the sick one. Not a short walk is it 
from his parsonage, on the hill, to ours, in the 
valley, nor has he few cares; yet he finds time 
to look after the stranger, and leaves a kindly 
word. 

Another ring, and my faithful Martha, who 
took so many steps for me in my March sick- 
ness, has rode over from a neighboring city, to 
spend with me an hour or two. But it will not 
do for me to see her. The doctor's orders are 
positive ; so I hear her ride away, without look- 
ing upon her face. 

I lie and look from my window upon the 
pleasant landscape. The old ash tree, around 
whose gnarled trunk twines a wreath of gold 
and emerald, is a constant delight to me. I 
love to see the squirrel run up and down 
with his winter store, love to look at the moss- 
grown wall beneath, at the road beyond, wind- 



CHANGE OF EMPLOYMENT. 177 

ing down under the overshadowing trees, to the 
village. 

Up on the green hill-side stands a fine coun- 
try house, and very pleasant are the thoughts it 
awakens, for there live those who, for love to 
their Master, entertain his disciples. About a 
month since,a missionary and his wife went forth 
from their hospitable roof, to join their mission 
in Southern India. We remember the half 
day spent with them, and love to recall the 
words of that wife and mother, who had left 
five of her six children in as many different 
homes, in her native land. We asked her if 
she did not dread the sea. With a sweet smile 
she replied, " Oh, no ! I have learned not to 
dread any thing." 

The setting sun now casts his golden rays 
through the western window, and by it my 
friend sits down and reads me one of those 
goodly Huntington sermons from the text, — 

" Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for 
him.' 5 

I lie with closed eyes, trying to learn the in- 
structive and consoling lesson. Soon the sun 
goes down, and the flickering shadows of the old 
ash tree cease to play over the bedspread ; then 
by and by shines forth like a celestial lamp, the 
evening star. 

12 



178 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

My friend steps again within the door to give 

me something to go to sleep upon. And this is 

it: — 

" I love thee, I love thee ; pass under the rod." 
And now the earthly ministry of the day is 

ended. The house is still. The birds have 

ceased their twilight chirpings. 

"Then soft, as birds their pinions closing," 

brood over the soul thoughts of Him, who in 
his love and pity redeemed his people, and car- 
ried them all the days of old. 

The eye of sense looks no longer into the 
dark and narrow grave, for faith has opened 
hers on the city that has no need of the sun, nor 
of the moon, but the Lamb is the light thereof. 
And trustfully I lay me down to sleep, exclaim- 
ing,— 

" Though I walk through the valley of the 
shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou 
art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort 
me." 



CHAPTER XX. 

HEE WRITINGS. 

This volume is made up mainly from her own 
pen. Yet the friendly reader would hardly be 
satisfied without some specimens of the articles 
referred to in the last chapter. A number of 
these are within reach, but we have selected 
two, which may serve as a sample of the rest. 

The first shows that her missionary zeal was 
as ardent as ever, though unable to go abroad 
in person, and also reveals a keen apprecia- 
tion of certain popular hindrances to mission- 
ary benevolence in our churches. 

The other is doubtless a leaf from her note 
book as a city missionary, transcribed in order 
to increase the interest of others in a class 
for whose benefit she could now labor in no 
other way. 

"INFLUENCE. 

" A pair of Cashmere gloves instead of kid ones ? 
Oh, Emily, what an economical body you are ! " 

Emily smiled, as she cut the shop mark from the 

(179) 



180 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

gloves and drew one of them over her hand. " There, 
see ! " she said, " does it not fit as nicely as your Paris 
kids ? " 

" Oh, yes, to be sure,'' said her sister, " they look 
very well, but very cheap. I can imagine you calling 
to see your friend, Kate Lord, with them on." 

" Say, rather," said their brother Charles, who lay 
lounging on the sofa, " that you can see her carrying 
old Patsy Sullivan a basket of groceries, bought with 
the half dollar she saved in the purchase." 

" Oh, if you are going to plead her cause, and up- 
hold her in such foolishness, I may as w r ell stop," said 
Annie Weston, gathering up, as she spoke, from the 
table several packages, and leaving the room. 

A scornful expression rested on her face, as she 
hurried up the softly carpeted stairs to her chamber, 
and there threw herself into a low rocking chair by 
her toilet table. 

" Emily is odd, but Charles thinks she is a pattern 
of self-denial," she said to herself. 

Annie w r as evidently ill at ease. The elegantly 
formed Paris gloves, the delicate Honiton lace, and 
the rich ribbon that lay upon her lap, had all lost their 
wonted charms ; for, with an expression of weariness 
she tossed them aside, and in a disconsolate frame 
sat rocking to and fro. 

" Why, my dear Annie, what is the trouble ? " said 
her sister, cheerfully, a few moments after, as she en- 
tered the room. 

" It is trouble enough, when one's sister has so little 
sympathy with her." 



HER WRITINGS. 181 

"Why, Annie, what do you mean s '' said Emily, 
gazing anxiously at her. 

" Mean ? Why, just this. We have the same 
monthly allowance for spending money, and yet you 
dress so much less than I do that people really notice 
it, and I think it is positively unkind in you." 

The color came and went in the mild face of the 
elder sister, and then her eyes filling with tears, she 
said, — 

" Once, Annie, there was a time when we dressed 
alike." 

" Yes, I know that very well. Before we joined 
the church you was as fond of dress as I am." 

" And, Annie, is it not expected of Christians that 
they should deny themselves for their Master ? After 
such a sermon as we had yesterday, on foreign mis- 
sions, I am sure I dare not spend my money on needless 
things." 

" Just think how the Dorr girls dress, and yet you 
know yourself, Emily, that you love to associate with 
them as well as I do." 

"Yes, I love to associate with them, because they 
are affectionate and intelligent, not because they dress 
richly ; for, truth to tell, it really gives me pain to 
think how much money they must spend upon it. 
But then the Dorrs are a great deal richer than we 
are, and give largely to good objects. We can not 
spend largely in dress and in giving too, so it seems 
to me, as true disciples, we should deny ourselves. 
Oh, Annie," she continued, bending over the back 



182 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

of her sister's chair, and kissing her forehead as she 
spoke, " self-denial is a very pleasant thing, after all. 
"Why will you not find this out for yourself? " 

Annie made no answer, but rose and commenced 
putting her things away, and so the conversation 
ended. 

Emily hoped that what had been said was not in 
vain, but the impression, if any had been made, soon 
wore away, for the very next week, Annie confessed 
that she had spent the whole of her month's allow- 
ance, without reserving a cent for benevolence. 

Emily and Annie Weston were the children of pious 
parents, who, from plain habits and narrow means, 
had gradually risen into wealth and position. The 
mother, a gentle and yielding woman, allowed herself, 
unconsciously, to be governed by the society in which 
she moved, and expended sums in dress and furniture, 
such as once she would have deemed inconsistent 
in a follower of Christ. Her husband, on the con- 
trary, was a man of great firmness and decision, who 
retained, in the midst of many pressing cares, a simple 
adherence to an unworldly faith. 

It was now somewhat over a year since two of their 
three children had professed their faith in Christ, 
and become members of the visible church. That 
there was a great difference between the two, the father 
soon discovered, with mingled joy and anxiety. Joy, 
that Emily bore so clearly the marks of the u new 
creature," and anxiety, lest Annie, while a professor, 
was no possessor of the grace of God. Nor did their 



HER WRITINGS. 183 

young brother fail to note the difference, and express 
his opinion, much to Annie's annoyance. 

Several weeks had passed since the above con- 
versation between the sisters, and they were sitting 
together alone, in their chamber, sewing. It was now 
midwinter, yet a summer-like atmosphere, laden with 
the perfume of fiowers, filled the room. 

" Pray, who can be out making calls this bitter cold 
day ? " said Annie, as she heard some one at the door, 
and stepped out to the stairway to listen. She re- 
turned, saying, " It is somebody that inquired for ma, 
and Jane told her she was not in. Then the visitor 
asked if the young ladies were at home, and she has 
gone into the parlor ; so one of us will have to go 
down." 

" Mrs. Watson," said Jane, appearing at the cham- 
ber door, " would like to see the Miss Westons." 

u Oh, Mrs. Watson, you know, Emily ; she is the 
woman that sits in the Blakes' pew, and looks, for all 
the world, like a Quaker. She's on some begging 
expedition, you may depend. She'll glean but a poor 
harvest here, I can tell her." 

Emily looked up with a troubled expression, and 
was about to speak, but checked herself, and began to 
fold up her work. 

. " Well, I am going down now," continued Annie, 
" and you can come when you get ready." 

It was a mild, pleasant face that met the young 
girl's eye as she entered the parlor, and a sweet 
voice that bade her " good morning." " Mrs. Wat- 
son, I believe," said Annie, extending her hand. 



184 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

" Yes," said the lady ; " you did not expect callers 
on so cold a morning, I suppose. I am one of the 
foreign missionary collectors, as perhaps you knew, 
and the names of Mrs. Weston and daughters are on 
my list." 

" My mother is not at home" said Annie ; " I dare 
say she would like to contribute if she was." 

Annie stopped, and for a moment there was an 
awkward pause ; and then, with some hesitation, she 
added, — 

" I wish I had some money for you myself, Mrs. 
"Watson, but my monthly allowance is all expended, 
and there are so many calls for money, you know. I 
think our church take up altogether too many col- 
lections. There is one almost every week. I do not 
see how any but the richest people can give to all." 

The lady rose with a look of disappointment. This 
was her fourth call, and as yet she had received but a 
single dollar. With delicate health and a sensitive 
heart, it was no easy mission to go, in the extreme 
cold, from street to street, and receive what chilled 
her far more than the sharp air of that January morn- 
ing. Such words of excuse and complaint ! Her 
hand was already on the door, when Annie detained 
her, saying, — 

" I believe my sister would like to see you. Please 
be seated for a moment, and I will speak to her." 

Mrs. Watson sighed as she sat down again upon 
the soft divan, and looked around the spacious parlor. 
Rich paintings hung upon the walls ; delicate Parian 



HER WRITINGS. 185 

vases were on the marble mantles, and choice works 
of art were tastefully arranged about the room. 

" And yet there is nothing to give to the Master's 
cause," said she to herself. 

Just then a light footfall was heard on the stairs, 
and in a moment more Emily Weston came in, with a 
smile of welcome lighting up her face. 

" I am very glad you called on us," said she, hand- 
ing Mrs. Watson a five dollar note. " And my mother, 
I believe, has some money for you too. Indeed, I 
should think every body who heard Mr. G.'s sermon 
in behalf of foreign missions would wish to give." 

A new light seemed to gleam from the clear, hazel 
eye of the visitor, as she said, " You remember that 
sermon, I see." 

"Kemember it!" said Emily, her face flushing 
with enthusiasm. " I can never forget it. I thought, 
when it was finished, that no earthly work could com- 
pare with that of the foreign missionary." 

" Yes," replied the other, " it is an honorable and 
enviable position to be a shining light amid so much 
darkness. But you know, my dear," she added, 
rising, " our light can shine just as brightly in a more 
humble sphere, though its rays may not be seen as 
far." 

" Will you not sit longer ? " said Emily. fc 

" No, I think not. You have encouraged me to go 
on in my collecting. Before you came down I had 
about determined to go home, and wait until I felt 
more hopeful, my success had been so poor this 



186 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

morning. I am glad you love this cause," she contin- 
ued, pressing her young friend's hand warmly. 

When the " good mornings " had been exchanged 
at the door, and Emily had returned to the chamber, 
Annie burst into a laugh, saying, " What a stupid 
kind of a woman that is ! I can't think what it is 
about her that makes every body notice her so much. 
Is she rich, or what is it ? " 

"Yes," said Emily, "she has one kind of riches. 
She is rich in faith. I have heard Mr. G. tell mother 
she was the loveliest Christian he had ever known. I 
wish I could be more acquainted with her." 

"Oh, you droll creature!" said Annie. "Why, 
you have the strangest fancies in the world. I expect 
you will apply for the situation of matron of the Old 
Lady's Home pretty soon." 

" I shall be glad," said Emily, gravely, " if the day 
ever comes that sees me worthy of it." 

Two years had passed away. It was a clear, mid- 
winter night, and myriads of stars lit up the deep blue 
sky. Unbroken stillness reigned around the dwelling 
of the Westons, though a solitary light was still 
gleaming from one of the windows, and now and then 
a shadow flitted across the white curtain. Was there 
sickness, or why, at this late hour, were not all retired 
in that quiet home ? 

Ah, she who was now keeping her solitary vigils 
was passing through a fiery ordeal that forbade repose. 
It was Emily Weston. On the morrow she was to 
become a missionary's bride, and this was her last 



HER WRITINGS. 187 

night in the home of her childhood. Far away over 

the ocean, among " the dark browed children of the 
sun," was henceforth to be her home. Great was the 
mystery to her that she had been counted worthy to 
suffer thus for the Master's sake. Nor was this an 
hour of vain regrets that hers was hereafter to be a 
life of self-sacrifice. But the ties of kindred bind 
closely, and it was agony to think that they were so 
soon to be severed. 

She thought of her mother, — her ever gentle, con- 
siderate mother, — memories of whom hallowed every 
day of her past life ; of her father, her noble fa- 
ther, whose pure life, steadfast faith, and earnest 
prayers, had been golden chains, linking her with 
all that was holy ; of her warm-hearted, generous 
brother, who had lately consecrated " the dew of his 
youth " to his Master's service ; and last, and ten- 
derest of all, came thoughts of her young and deeply 
cherished sister. 

" I can not, indeed I can not part w T ith her," she 
murmured, as she leaned over the bedside, and gazed 
upon the face of the lovely sleeper. 

Suddenly the eyes, swollen with weeping, opened, 
and throwing up her arms, her sister clung convul- 
sively to her neck, and gave way to uncontrolled grief. 
It was long before either could speak, but at length 
Annie grew calm, and said, — 

"Oh, Emily, I have found out why this earthly 
parting is allowed. It is that we may not be parted 
for ever. I have been deceived ; did you know it? " 



188 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

she added, with, a shudder. " I am not a Christian. 
I have never known the Lord. But I believe I shall 
know him, and when I do, I hope I shall serve him 
too. Not as you have done, — I never expect to do 
that, — but if it is in a poor, humble way, He will 
accept it, will he not ? " 

Emily could only weep a reply, and press her lips 
fondly upon her sister's hot forehead. 

" The world will think you go to suffer, while I 
stay to enjoy. But, oh, I shall suffer too ; suffer 
the bitter pang of longing for what can never come 
to me again. But, Emily, eternity will make amends 
for all." There was a pause, and then she continued : 
" Will you not pray with me once more ? " 

Together there, in that solemn hour, the two sisters 
knelt, while the elder poured out her full soul in ear- 
nest petitions for divine help and guidance. It was a 
precious relief, that unburdening her heart at the feet 
of one who could be touched with the feeling of her in- 
firmity, and great was the help given; for through all 
the trying separations that followed, hers was a calm 
and unruffled spirit. 

Emily Weston had not lived in vain. At home, 
around her young sister, she had thrown, month by 
month, and year by year, the chains of a sacred influ- 
ence that no earthly spell could break. In the church, 
as a young servant of Christ, ready for every good 
work; and as a prayerful disciple, growing in grace 
and in the knowledge of her Saviour she had been a 
living epistle, known and read of all men. 



HER WRITINGS. 189 

Upon whom will her mantle fall ? thought her pas- 
tor, as he watched the white sails of the missionary 
barque disappear in the distant horizon. 

Would he have then believed it was to rest on that 
sister, whose marked indifference to her Master's 
cause had so often caused him dark forebodings ? 

Yet it was to be even so. 

A new life had begun to struggle in that wayward 
disciple's heart ; — first it was the blade, then the ear, 
but now it is the full corn in the ear ; and no greater 
joy has that missionary sister, as she gathers her 
sheaves in that distant harvest-field, than the cheering 
evidence that among the poor and degraded of her 
native city, other sheaves are being gathered for the 
heavenly garner, by her once selfish and earthly- 
minded sister. 

JAMES O'DONNELL. 

A SKETCH OF SCENES IN CITY MISSION LIFE. 

" An' where is it that the big Bible is ? " said James 
O'Donnell, running into the house, almost breathless, 
one afternoon. 

" A strange quistion; that, for you to be asking," 
said his mother, who stood cooking at the stove ; " an' 
what is it you're wantin' of the big Bible ? " 

" Oh, niver mind, I want it," said James ; at the same 
time climbing up to look at the books on a crowded 
shelf just over the head of the bed. 

" But it's not there ye'll find it ; " and Margaret 



190 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

O'Donnell laid down her cooking fork upon the table, 
went to an old chest in the corner, and lifting the 
lid, took out a heavy, leathern-bound Bible. James 
reached forth his hands to receive the book, but his 
mother retained it, saying,— 

" Till me, first, what ye are after wan tin' it for ? " 

" Why," said the boy, throwing himself impatiently 
into a chair, " to find somethin' the lady tould me about, 
to be sure. Ye see, as I was comin' from school, I 
went into Tom Lanergan's, and a lady was settin' in 
the room radein' to lame Margary. Whin I wint in, 
she stopped and axed me what my name might be; 
and whin Margary tould her I was the boy who 
brought her wather, and did her runnins, the lady she 
laft, and said she always liked the boys who were 
obligin' and wiliin' like to do for those who couldn't do 
for thimselves. Thin she talked to me about behV 
good, and asked me if I wouldn't be afther likin' to 
grow up, and make the world betther for livin' in it. 
She tould me uv a chapter in the Bible that would 
hilp me, and it was that I was afther wantin' to find. 
It was the fifth chapter in the New Tistament part." 

" Take it to the winder where ye can see," said his 
mother, placing the Bible in his hand, " and whin ye've 
found the place, rade it aloud." 

A quaint looking old book it was, with curious let- 
ters, and leaves yellowed with age ! James turned 
its leaves over eagerly, until he found the fifth chapter 
of Matthew, which he began to read aloud. Little 
Katy, a frail, sweet looking child, had just drawn up 



HER WRITINGS. 191 

her arm chair to his side to listen, when a heavy step, 
was heard in the entry, the door opened, and the tall, 
stalwart figure of Thomas O'Donnell, the father, en- 
tered. His wife uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
then said, " Is it sick ye are ? " 

" Faith, I should think yer eyes would till ye betther 
than that. We're through our month's job, and it's 
late in the day to begin another, so our gang was off 
at five. I would a bin home sooner, only I staid to 
see the fight." 

" Fight ? " inquired Margaret, " where ? " 

" O, but it was over at the North Ind. Tom Har- 
ney, — an' a brisk Catholic lad he is, — tould a big 
Yankee boy, that in tin years there'd not be a Bible 
in a Boston school. Thin the Yankee boy doubled his 
fist and said, ' Don't ye say that agin'. Thin Tom 
set up a laugh, and said, ' Be gorrah, me boy, if ye'll 
wait twenty years, mind ye'll see the pope in the 
White House.' Thin the Yankee wint at him, and 
faix they had it there, strong and heavy, I can tell ye." 

Thomas suddenly stopped, for at that moment his 
eye caught sight of the book in James's lap. A sav- 
age expression settled over his features as he strode 
across the room, and snatching it from the boy, he 
held it out at arm's length toward his wife, saying, — 

" An' it's your work, is it, that ye're after settin' the 
boy to readin' this ? " 

Margaret tried to speak, but the words died on her 
lips. Little Katy sprang forward, and throwing her 
arms around her father, said, " No, father, it was the 
lady, — a lady tould him to do it." 



192 SUSAN M. UNDEBWOOD. 

" Lady, did ye say ? " said the man, fiercely ; 
" what lady, an' where is she ; out wi' it ? What 
lady ? " He seized the boy by the arm, and shook 
him roughly. 

" Tom O'Donnell," said his wife, in a calm voice, 
coming forward, and laying her hand upon his arm, 
" have ye forgot the promise ye made to me mither, 
in ould Ulster ? " An' over that very Bible ye made 
it, — the promise ye would never middle with my 
religion." 

" father hav' I," said the man ; " but mind the 
childer. Niver a drop of hiretic blood disgraced 
an O'Donnell, and niver, while I have a voice to 
spake or an arm to fight, will I see a stain fall. on the 
gude name of my father's. So, rade the hiretic's 
Bible ye may, Margaret O'Donnell, but if iver ye put 
it in the hands of the childer agin, as true as the 
blissed Virgin, I'll burn it for ye in a twinklinY' 

Margaret said no more, and Thomas, throwing the 
book on the bed, walked angrily from the house to a 
neighboring grocer's, where, to a group of eager listen- 
ers, he was soon rehearsing, with unwonted vehe- 
mence, the story of the North End fight. 

It was nearly twilight that same evening, when a boy 
of some dozen years might have been seen hurrying 
through one of the many streets that open out upon 
our beautiful Common. It was James O'Donnell. 
The harsh and unjust treatment of two hours before 
had roused a storm of passion in his young heart, and 
he had now come to throw himself upon the grassy hill- 






HER WHITINGS. 193 

slope, where, unseen and unheard, he might give vent 
to his smothered grief. 

" It's no use," said he, with a kind of moan, " it's 
no use for me to be tryin' to be iny thing ! " For while 
the words of the kind lady had kindled within him a 
little ambition for great and noble deeds, the words of 
his father as suddenly had quenched it, and the quick- 
formed purpose was now a smouldering ruin. Many 
and bitter were the tears shed by the poor Irish boy, 
as he lay alone in the damp evening air ; but the storm 
at last spent itself, and he uncovered his eyes and 
looked upward at the starlit sky. Then, like the voice 
of an angel, there came to him the thought which he had 
sometimes heard his mother express, " God knows all 
about it ! " and with the thought there spread through 
his soul a blessed calm. Ah, James O'Donnell, you 
may well anchor your tempest-tossed bark on that life- 
inspiring truth ! For, from the hills and vales of deso- 
lated Lebanon, and the dungeon cells of Italy to the 
loathsome slave-ship on mid ocean, or the cotton fields 
of Southern oppression — wherever and whenever the 
soul or the body is in bondage beneath the yoke of the 
oppressor, there may be found calm and fearless ones 
who, like you, say, trustfully and hopefully, " God 
knows all about it ! " 

So it was that, with a more patient, more hopeful 
heart, James went back to his humble home. He 
crept quietly into bed, that he might not awaken 
Katy ; but the dear child was not asleep. She had 
been waiting for him ; and now, nestling close to his 
13 



194 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

"side, she threw her arms lovingly around his neck, 
and said, — 

"Jamie, was the lady who tould ye about the chap- 
ters a tall, white lady, with a bit of blue ribbon tied 
under her chin ? " 

" Yis," said James. 

" Thin it was my sewin' teacher, my dear sewin' 
teacher ! She it was who tould me how to say, — 

" 4 Jesus, tinder Shepherd, hear me ; 
Bless thy little lamb to-night.' " 

" Oh, Katy," said James, interrupting her, " did ye 
know that in ould Ulster they have white lambs and 
green pastures? Mither says so, and, Katy, I mane 
to grow up to be a man, and earn money, and thin 
we'll go over to ould Ulster, and see the good Mor- 
risons ; for that is what lame Margary says they call 
mither's folks, in all the region round." 

Katy did not answer. She was already, in her 
dreams, among the white lambs and green pastures of 
old Ulster. 

Lame Margary had spoken truly, when she told 
James that his mother's kindred w r ere the " good Mor- 
risons of Ulster." Staunch Protestants they had 
always been, from their earliest history, and never 
had any of their race formed a Catholic alliance, until 
Margaret became the wife of an O'Donnell. Great 
was the grief of her old mother, that her youngest 
and cherished child should be the first to step without 
the fold. She made no open opposition, but she would 
often sadly say, — - 



HER WRITINGS. . 195 

" Ah, Margary, I'm fearing ye'll find it hard work 
to git into the kingdom at last." 

It was in vain Margaret told her that Thomas had 
promised never to meddle with her religion ; in vain 
that she said she should still read the Bible. Her 
mother would only shake her head, and say the more 
doubtfully, " May be ; may be ; but I'm fearin' for ye ! " 

There was not a young man in all the county who 
had more energy and perseverance than young Thomas 
O'Donnell, so no one w r as surprised to hear that he 
and his young wife were going to America to seek 
their fortune. In less than a year from her bridal 
day, the young, loving and trusting Margaret bade 
farewell to her dear old mother, brothers and sisters, 
and sailing across the ocean, exchanged the green 
hills and vales of old Ulster for a narrow, dirty, and 
crowded court, in the midst of a New England city. 
A stranger in a strange land, Margaret clung fondly 
to memories of the past. Nor did she forget her 
promise to her old mother, that she would read 
her parting gift, the leathern-bound family Bible. 
Still, as one child after another was added to the house- 
hold, her cares multiplied, and Margaret grew less 
mindful of the Sacred Book, and it was only now and 
then she was made to feel how bitter was her husband's 
hatred of it, and all that pertained to her Protestant 
faith. 

Unknown to her father, little Katy went every 
Wednesday and Saturday to a sewing school, kept by 
some Protestant ladies. Margaret excused herself for 
keeping her husband in ignorance of this, — a course 



196 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

which, to her ingenuous mind, could not but look some- 
what doubtful, — by saying within herself, "If he wasn't 
so unrasonable I would till him. Other Catholic chil- 
der go, and why not ours ? " 

Too feeble to enjoy the rude sports of healthy chil- 
dren, this pleasant school was an untold blessing to 
little Katy. And never a flower drank in more read- 
ily the sunshine of heaven, than did this tender heart- 
ed child the truths of God's Word from the lips of 
her gentle teacher. 

A month had now passed away since the last 
outburst of Thomas O'Donnell's religious zeal, and 
it was quite forgotten by all except James ; when, 
one Saturday evening, Katy, whose privilege it was 
to sit on her father's knee as soon as he had fin- 
ished his supper, sat smoothing down her new apron 
that she had brought home that day from sewing 
school. 

" Guess my girl's got a new apron ? " said James. 

" I made some of it meself," said Katy. " The 
sewin' teacher showed me how." 

And now came question after question, and darker 
grew the father's face at each answer, until with an 
angry flash of the eye, he suddenly unfastened and 
drew off the apron, and threw it into the fire. 

Katy ran sobbing to her mother, and hid her face 
in her lap, while her father said, fiercely, " Marga- 
ret, if iver agin' Katy O'Donnell goes to the sewin' 
school she's tilling of, I'll bate her to an inch of 
her life ! " 

There was no occasion for Thomas to fulfill this 






HER WRITINGS. 11:' 7 

threat. That very night little Katy was taken vio- 
lently sick, and the doctor who was summoned pro- 
nounced it a " bad case " of scarlet fever. The few 
succeeding days were days of intense suffering and 
delirium. With the tenderness of a woman, and an 
anxiety too deep for words, Thomas watched unceas- 
ingly by the bedside of his sick child. Margaret kept 
up as bravely as she could, trying to comfort poor 
James, who, almost heart-broken, would frequently 
give way to uncontrolled weeping. 

On the fourth morning, Katy was once more con- 
scious. James, almost wild with delight, covered her 
pale face with kisses, saying, " Jamie's darlin' will be 
now gittin' well ! " 

Margaret's sad face was lighted once more with 
hopeful smiles, and Thomas went whistling cheerily 
about the house. But the doctor struck a cold chill to 
all their hearts, by saying, — 

" The child is sinking — she will not live — there 
is no more that I can do ! " 

Dark was that day in the house of Thomas O'Don- 
nell ! Dark to all but Katy. She, alone, seemed 
happily unconscious of the grief that filled every other 
heart. 

" Jamie," said she, " could ye not fetch the sewin' 
teacher ? " 

" Not now, Katy ; it's Tuesday, ye know ; but to- 
morrow she'll be at the school, and thin I can." 

" Thin won't ye rade me the card she gav' the last 
time at the school ? " 



198 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

James went to Katy's little school-bag, and finding 
the card on which was printed the beautiful Psalrn, 
" The Lord is my Shepherd," brought it to the bed- 
side, and began to read aloud. 

As he finished the verse, — " He maketh me to lie 
down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside the 
still waters," — Katy's face brightened, and she said, 
" Don't that make ye think of ould Ulster, mother ? 
Did ye know the tacher tould us that the blissed 
Jesus is the Shipherd, and we're his lambs, if we're 
good. An', ses she, by and by he'll tak' us to 
the green pastures, — to the green pastures, Jamie, 
dear." And then Katy sank back, panting, on her 
pillow. 

A change passed over the sweet features. " Thom- 
as ! " said Margaret, in a frightened tone, to her hus- 
band, who sat at the foot of the bed, with his head 
bowed upon his knees, " Thomas ! tak' the child ; she's 
dyin' ! " 

The father started suddenly, and lifting her, just as 
she lay, upon her pillow, carried her to the window. 
The sun was setting, and as its lingering rays fell upon 
her golden hair, she opened her eyes and said " It's 
dark, father." 

" My God ! " said Thomas, sinking down into a 
chair, " my darlin' is blind ! " 

u Lift me," said the child, trying to rise. He gently 
raised her head, when, putting her hands together, 
she commenced in a low, husky voice, her evening 
prayer : — 



HER WRITINGS. 199 

" Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me; 
Bless thy little lamb to-night ; 
Thou hast clothed me, warmed me, fed me ; 
Keep — me — till " — 

The voice ceased, but the prayer was answered, for 
in the morning light of glory, little Katy entered 
Paradise. 

Then did the strength of Thomas O'Donnell be- 
come weakness, and with moans of anguish he bowed 
over the unconscious form. James threw his arms 
around his mother, crying, " Oh, mither, mither, 
what'll we do ! Oh, what'll we do! " 

Margaret alone was calm ; for, floating back to 
remembrance, there had come some of those mighty 
promises of God's Word that she had been taught 
in her childhood, and so, ( with a new, strange for- 
titude, she lifted the body from her husband's arms, 
and carrying it into the bed room, laid it on Katy's 
little bed. Then folding the same hands over' the 
breast, and smoothing back from the snow-white 
face the sunny hair, she murmured, " My darlin' is 
in greener pastures than ould Ulster's ! She shall 
not want ! " 

It was the afternoon of the next day. All needful 
preparations for the burial of their child had been 
made, and Thomas and Margaret O'Donnell sat alone 
together in their desolate home. " Where's Jamie ? " 
asked his father ? 

" Gone to till the sewin' teacher about Katy," said 
Margaret, in a low, quivering voice. There was a 



200 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

long silence, broken at last by James' returning foot- 
steps. He evidently brought some message, for, tak- 
ing off his cap, he went directly to his father's side. 
He hesitated a moment, then, dashing away the tears 
that had gathered in his eyes, said, — 

" Katy's sewin' teacher axed me to come to school. 
Will ye let me go nixt Sunday, father ? " 

Margaret leaned forward, and placing her hand on 
her husband's knee, said, " Our darlin' Katy's teacher 
it is, that asks it." 

" Our darlin 9 Katy's teacher " was the key that un- 
locked the bolted heart. With arms tightly folded, 
and a voice trembling with emotion, the father said, 
" Yis, go ; boy, go : and may the blissid Virgin forgiv' 
me, if it be a sin ! " 

James waited to hear no more, but stole softly 
through the half-opened door into the little room, 
where Katy, like a white-robed angel, lay, and kneel- 
ing down by her bedside, said in a low voice, — 

"O Shipherd of darlin' Katy, hilp me to be 
good, that one day I may liv' with her, and be with 
thee in green pastures. Thin will we both togither 
give thee thanks, oh, tin thousand times tin thousand, 
for iver and iver. Amen." 

And this was how James O'Donnell came to be a 
member of our mission school. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

LETTERS. 
To Mr; and Mrs. B. : — 

Saturday Evening, June 10, 1860. 

My dear Friends : I am not willing this week 
should slip away without beginning, at least, a 
reply to yours. It was very thoughtful in you 
to send me those words of good cheer, and 
most welcome they were, I assure you. Now, 
you would like to know in return what engages 
my time and thoughts. Let me give you a brief 
programme of the week's incidents. 

Monday Morning. Delightful day. Air fra- 
grant and warm. Walked a mile with K. 
toward school. Had a quiet hour to read my 
Bible and Leighton. Wrote two hours. Din- 
ner. Sat down to write, but was interrupted 
by a call. 

Wednesday. When the sun shone out, walked 
a while in the woods. In the afternoon took 
baby out to the barn, in her little carriage, and . 
sat smelling the new hay, listening to the twit- 
tering of the swallows, and looking up at the 
serene blue sky. I thought of you all as I sat 

(201) 



202 SUSAN M. UNDERV/OOD. 

there, and wished you could know how well I 
was. 

Friday, Mr. — — came with his chaise, and 
took me to his house for the day. And what a 
pleasant day it was. Sat in the summer parlor 
all the forenoon with his niece, talking. It was 
really " a feast of reason and a flow of soul" 
about books, about poetry, about the life of 
faith, and a better country, — but I will not go 
on. It was a short forenoon. Only think how 
many good things in one day. 

Saturday. Another pleasant day. Walked a 
mile. Read some. Have been sewing this af- 
ternoon and now am closing up the day by 
writing to you. I have two bouquets of beautiful 
flowers in my room, which I wish I could send 
you. Hundreds of pinks are in full bloom 
under my window. The scenery about me is 
delightful.. I love to sit, and look upon the 
high hill in front of us, — at the cattle brows- 
ing up its side, or lying down under its shady 
trees, — and think of the Proprietor of all this vast 
domain, to whom belong the cattle on a thou- 
sand hills. Nor are evidences of his richer 
i grace and higher power wanting amid all this 
beauty. Redeeming love has found its trophies 
here, who will, in the eyes of angels, make this 
a hallowed spot. 



LETTERS. 203 

To Mrs. J. N. D.: — 

My dear Friend : . . . Are you tired of 
my rambling letter ? I can not make it as val- 
uable as yours, but I think the affection it 
breathes will bear analyzing. I believe it is the 
genuine article. It grew from seeds your own 
hand planted, therefore I do not boast, in speak- 
ing of it. 

Is this not near the time, of your dear M.'s 
departure, a year ago ? I think it must be. Ah, 
these sad recollections ! You are having them 
multiplied in your experience. There will be 
none up above. No coldness, no estrangement, 
no death. Oh, happy, happy country. 

I have noted down a few thoughts of MavePs 
and McGheyne's, which have interested me of 
late. Do you know, I look upon the loan 
of McGheyne's memoir as a token of good to 
my sin-sick soul. It is a ray from the great cen- 
tral Sun, which is to illumine and sanctify. So 
I hope-, for the leaves all breathe of myrrh, and 
aloes, and cassia, and may I not catch and keep 
some of the heavenly fragrance ? 

" Prayer is the golden key which unlocks the* 
treasures." Flavel. 

" A word spoken by you when your conscience 



204 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

is clear, and your heart fall of God's Spirit, 
is worth ten thousand words spoken in unbelief 
and sin." — " Remember Moses wist not that his 
face shone. Looking at our own shining face, is 
the bane of spiritual life, and of the ministry." — 
"Is it not true with some of you, that your 
hearts are like the foot-path, trodden all the 
week by wicked thoughts, with ' free passage this 
way ' written over against it ? " Mc Cheyne. 

To Miss F. : — 

July 17, 1860. 

My dear Friend : If my eyes had not become 
somewhat stronger, I could not safely write you 
even now, for it is about two weeks since I have 
dared to use them. My health is quite good 
now. I am surprised to find myself as well as 
I am. What my Master designs for me in the 
future I know not, but some humble place in 
the vineyard, I hope, where I shall 

11 Little achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor, and to wait." 

Do you know there is a great deal of sound, 
practical theology in Longfellow's Psalm of Life ? 
I frequently find a line recurring to me, as ex- 
pressing the experience of my heart. 



LETTERS. 205 

" Not enjoyment and not sorrow 
Is the destined end or way, 
But to live that each to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day." 

It is a hymn, or psalm rather, that will bear 
much repetition. 

Your pleasant note gave me some profitable 
topics for meditation. To be fully satisfied will 
be, indeed, a heavenly experience. Yet I sup- 
pose heavenly contentment is a plant growing in 
earthly soil. We may, therefore, cultivate it, in 
anticipation of a glorious development when 
it shall be changed to this same heavenly satis- 
faction. Paul enjoyed the fragrance of the 
earthly blossom all along his pilgrimage. In 
prison, in the stocks,, in perils by land and by 
water, in good report and in evil report, it lived 
on ; in whatsoever state, he had learned in all 
things to be content. Yet, my dear Mrs. G. 
used to say, " It is well once in a while to 
change our trials." I suppose character would 
be unevenly developed if the same discipline 
came year by year, without variation. And 
I think we often err in thinking victory 
over ourselves, in these trials, unattainable. 
Archbishop Leighton, in early life, was quite 
irritable. When grace wrought in him the 
new creature, the remains of the "old man" 



206 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

still stirred up corruption. He set himself dili- 
gently to the work of mortifying this sin ; and 
it is related, that he spent whole nights on 
his knees in prayer for strength to overcome. 
Mark the result. "For twenty years,' 1 writes an 
intimate friend (Dr. Burnet), " I have never seen 
him ruffled in temper, though I have seen him 
under more than ordinary provocation." The 
example is encouraging and discouraging both. 
In comparison with my own present attain- 
ments, it looks like an impossible progress in 
Christian life. 

To Mrs. M. F. D. : — 

Andover, November 17, 1860. 

" I have been to a land, a border-land, — 
May oblivion never roll 
O'er the many lessons which then and there 
Were graven on my soul." 

And you, also, my dear Mrs. D., have had a 
view of the border-land. Yours, from the open 
door of the sepulcher, and mine from the bed 
of pain and weakness. Yet both of us saw that 
dim, "yet w.ondrous shore," beyond the swelling 
tide, and were comforted. So your father is 
gone ? I, too, have lost a father, and one who 
was to me dearer than any other earthly friend, 
therefore can I sympathize with you as some 






LETTERS. 207 

can not. It is a great loss to lose a mother, all 
acknowledge ; but we can testify it is a great loss, 
also, to lose a father. How memory takes us 
back to our first walks and rides with him, to 
the hymns we have repeated at his side, to his 
early instruction, then hardly heeded, now so 
highly prized. How glad he was to believe the 
best of us, glad to think our " errors leaned to 
virtue's side," glad to watch the least growth in 
our minds, and proud of any marked advance. 
How sure we were that his great heart had taken 
us so entirely into it that our joys were his joys, 
our sorrows his sorrows, and our hopes his also. 
He was like the oak, around which the ivy 
clings, — our weakness leaning on him became 
strength. We remember, too, the social circle, 
where we saw the fruits of a mind that had been 
nurtured with patient care. How often were his 
words " like apples of gold in pictures of silver ! " 
We recall the stories of his college life, - — inci- 
dents connecting him with many whom the 
world have been since proud to honor ; we 
recall his wit, his vivacity ; dream over his 
generous heartedness, and then wake to the cold 
reality — that it is all for ever gone." 

Yet not for ever, — in the silent tomb 
Where thou art gone, thy kindness shall find room; 
A few short years, — a few short years of pain, 
And one by one we'll come to thee again. 



208 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

In hope of a glorious resurrection, we will be 
patient, giving thanks alway through our Lord 
and Saviour Jesus Christ. 

My letter, as you see, is dated at Andover. 
Yes, I am back again to the neighborhood whero 
I was born. Within a stone's throw of the 
chapel where my childish feet were first taught 
to go up to the house of the Lord. I am, as 
you will infer, somewhat feeble. Yet not more 
so than such a severe attack of hemorrhage 
would be expected to make me. That last at- 
tack occasioned a more profuse bleeding than 
all my other five attacks put together. It really 
seemed as though I might be bleeding to death, 
and before the doctor could get there I asked 
my friend M. if she thought I was. She said 
she thought not. It was in the night, — and 
a truly solemn hour. May I tell you how I felt ? 
Peaceful, and as far as I know, willing to go or 
to stay. I could find no more fitting comparison 
than to liken it to a journey I once took. A 
friend secured for me my state room, procured my 
tickets, and told me all I had to do was to step 
on board the boat, go to my room, and sleep qui- 
etly until morning. Then, he told me, I should 
be within sight of port. It was as he had said. 
It is true there were some " strange sounds;" 
the waves dashed against the ship, and the dark- 



LETTERS. 209 

ness was " a very great darkness." But there was 
a Pilot on board. In the morning I arose early, 
and went out on deck. The city was in full view, 
lighted up with the rays of the morning sun. 
Cheerfulness beamed on every face. We were 
safe in port. And now, in my sickness, I felt that 
I knew whom I had believed, and that he was 
able to keep that which I had committed unto 
Him, against that day. I was not afraid to cross 
the dark river — for I felt sure the bright city 
was on the other side. I was very favorably sit- 
uated during my sickness, with my excellent 
friends the O.'s, where attentions, such as love 
suggests, were freely shown. 

To Mrs. E. : — 

Andover, December 22, 1860. 

My dear Mrs. E. : This is Forefather's Day, 
and I don't know that I shall be able to celebrate 
it better than by writing to you. So you are 
really at work among my poor people ? Your 
feet, instead of mine, are treading those crowded 
streets, narrow stairways, and desolate rooms. 
Your hands, instead of mine, administer to 
wants, pressing and numerous, and your voice, 
instead of mine, speaks words of hope and 
counsel. Am I willing it should be so ? Oh, I 
hope I am, but the tear will start, the heart will 
14 



210 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

yearn, as 1 call up the familiar faces of those 
interesting people. " Have any believed the 
report ? " Have any laid down life's burden, 
and taken up the crown ? Have any, of whom 
" I hoped better things," fallen away from their 
steadfastness ? And, how is it with the tender 
lambs, over whose sorrowful lot my heart has 
ached ? Has the Saviour taken any of them to 
his bosom, suffering them, through grace, to 
obtain the victory without the fight ? You can 
not answer ; for how could I tell you just who 
come back to my memory. I must wait until 
the momentous revelation of the last great day 
to know all I would know, and, alas, much, I 
fear that I would not. I am glad you are en- 
gaged in that neighborhood. I know the poor 
families will love you, and in many respects, you 
can sympathize with them, as I never could. 
How many a widow's heart will open itself to 
you, as it never might to me ! How many a 
bereaved mother finds in you one who can shed 
tears of pity, mingled with those of like grief, 
as you remember a sweet marble face, once 
pressed against your own, that now, 

" You know, is hid, 
Beneath the coffin-lid ; 
Your hand that marble felt, 
O'er it in prayer you knelt, 



LETTERS. 211 

and whispered of your child. " It is not there." 
So go on hopefully, my dear friend. Do you 
have a sewing school ? And a female prayer 
meeting too ? I love to think of the latter, that 
I used to attend, every Friday. I can see the 
faces of those who were present, and you don't 
know how I want to talk with them once more. 
Tell me, do you ever see that poor Mrs. W. ? 
Very miserable she is bodily and spiritually, but 
yet there is something about her that makes me 
feel an interest in her. Will you tell her I in- 
quired for her, and have not forgotten her little 
dark room and her children. Tell her from 
me, that " Christ came not to call the righteous, 
but sinners to repentance." Then there is that 
wretched Mrs. P. I think the poor creature did 
try to break the chains that bound her, and felt 
after the cross. But the fearful habit of drink- 
ing dragged her back again. If you ever see 
her, tell her I love her and will pray for her, 
that she may yet be a sober Christian, and that 
I may meet her in glory. These poor, uninter- 
esting ones, I think I want to see the most. 
They bring the tears the quickest of any. I do so 
long to give them a helping hand. That fear- 
fully destitute family of B., is another. I have 
thought of their dreary home many, many 
times. Abandoned as the woman appears to be 



212 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

to strong drink, she has got a hold upon my 
heart. I want her to be saved. Don't think it 
too poor a soil to cast seed into, if you find her. 

To Mrs. D. : — 

Andoter, Christmas Week, 1880. 

My dear Mrs. D. : Again and yet again? No 
intermittent spring, is your friendship. 

Have you ever noticed when the time comes 
for the melting of winter snows, how some tem- 
porary stream, swollen and noisy, will flow along 
the roadside. Children stop and watch with 
delight its rapid motion, and even graver people 
pause and give it a passing look. A few hours, 
and the tiny river has disappeared. 

You have seen, too, in the dry midsummer, 
when walking in some unfrequented lane, a 
narrow stream, gurgling across your pathway, 
with a sweet, musical sound, that sets you to 
day-dreaming. Fringed with flowers and bright 
green mosses, it flows on, reflecting the heavens' 
own sunshine, from its pure waters. Again and 
again it wins you to the spot. It is always clear, 
always flowing. They tell you it is fed by a 
spring, and you imagine, deep down within 
the foundations of " the everlasting hills," the 
mysterious spot of its birth. Such a stream as 
the first, is many an earthly friendship ; such a 



LETTERS. 213 

one as the last, has yours been to me. Your 
last letter came to me on the evening of a day 
in which there had been several disappointments. 
Some of them trivial, and one that was really 
enough to claim the name. I was sitting in the 
parlor, watching the gathering twilight, not very 
sad, it is true, but 

" With a feeling of sadness and longing, 
A feeling akin unto pain, 
That resembles sorrow, only 
As the mist resembles the rain," 

when that pleasant remembrance from " M. F. 
D." and others, dissipated the mist, and made a 
clear shining. This will be thanks enough. 

Who do you think called here, some few 
weeks ago? Who but Eev. Mr. T., my former 
pastor. Did I enjoy the call, you ask ? Will 
you believe it, I did not see him. He came 
after I had retired for the night, and left so early 
the next morning that he could not call again. 
I had a good hearty cry over it, the heartiest 
one I have had this winter. The family laughed 
at a grief so much greater than the cause, and 
said they were quite surprised at me. But you 
will not be. In a corner of my chamber, be- 
neath a canopy of evergreens and red winter- 
berries, his picture hangs. It is a kind of shrine. 



214 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

dedicated to the holiest friendship I have ever 
known, for he was the man who showed me the 
way to the cross ! 

To a friend, under circumstances of peculiar 
affliction : — 

Axdovek, January, 1861. 

My dear Friend : A letter like your last cer- 
tainly demanded an earlier answer, and had it 
not been that for a few days past I felt quite too 
sad to write, you would have heard from me 
before. . . . And so the hidden chamber of your 
heart, that held that sad experience, you at last 
open to me, and thereby show another proof that 
you are in covenant relations with your heav- 
enly Father ; for whom he loves, he chastens ; 
and it is always to be found that his own peculiar 
people, at some period in their history, undergo 
peculiar discipline. How much at fault we 
often are in our imaginings of what our friends 
are doing. We think of them as pursuing their 
customary avocations, when they are passing 
through deep waters. So it was with me in 
thinking of you, during that sorrowful week, 
when you were called to such heavy trials. In- 
deed, it seems to me that your last year has 
been one mingled scene of changing incident, in 
which the sorrowful predominates. What is it 
all fitting you for ? Who can say ? 



LETTERS. 215 

I think you have done quite right in under- 
taking the care of those expenses, though I 
hardly see how you will bear the burden with- 
out great inconvenience, at times, to say the 
least. Still, God placed you in those relations, 
and no earthly circumstance, no earthly nor 
satanic power, can break the bond. A bond 
that should have been " Beauty and Strength," 
now, alas, how tarnished ! Doing for the un- 
thankful and ungrateful gives us a new insight 
into our Lord's self-renouncing spirit, and be- 
holding it as in a glass, we are changed into the 
same image. You are being admitted into a 
higher sphere of Christian benevolence than, 
perhaps, you ever trod ; therefore walk rever- 
ently, and with meekness learn the lessons 
given ; saying, in the language of sacred song, 

" Nearer my God, to thee, 

Nearer to thee, 
E'en though it be a cross 
That raiseth me." 

Do not hesitate to speak freely to me on this 
subject, if it is ever any relief for you to do so. 
I trust you will not find me wanting in sympathy, 
for that is about all I have to offer now. 

'« Pilgrim of earth, on thy journey to heaven, 
Heir of eternal life ! child of the dav ! 



216 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Cared for, watched over, beloved, and forgiven, 
Art thou discouraged because of the way ? 

" Cared for, watched over, though often thou seemest 
Justly forsaken, nor counted a child ; 
Loved and forgiven, though rightly thou deemest 
Thyself all unlovely, impure, and denied. 

" Weary and thirsty, no water-brook near thee, 
Press on, nor faint at the length of the way ; 
The God of thy life will assuredly hear thee — 
He will provide thee with strength for the day. 

M Break through the brambles and briers that obstruct thee; 
Dread not the gloom and the blackness of night ; 
Lean on the hand that will safely conduct thee, 
Trust to his eye, to whom darkness is light, 

" Trust him, be steadfast, whatever befall thee, 
Only one thing, do thou ask of the Lord ; 
Grace to go forward, wherever he guides thee, i 

Simply believing the truth of his Word. 

" Still on thy spirit deep anguish is pressing, 
Not for the yoke that his wisdom bestows ; 
A heavier burden thy soul is distressing, — 
A heart that is slow in his love to repose. 

" Earthliness, coldness, unthankful behavior, 

Ah ! thou may'st sorrow, but do not despair ; 
Even this grief thou may'st bring to the Saviour ; 
Cast upon him even this burden and care. 

" Bring all thy hardness — his power can subdue it; 
How full is the promise, the blessing is free ! 
* What ever ye ask in my name, I will do it ; 
Abide in my love, and be joyful in me.' " 






LETTERS. 217 

To Mrs. B. : — 

And over, January 22, 1861, 

My dear Friend Mrs. B. : . . . My health 
has been very unsettled now for more than a 
year and a half, as I have had, in that time, six 
different attacks of hemorrhage. But I am now 
so far recovered that I expect to enjoy very tol- 
erable health once more. My eyes are very 
sensitive, and were so inflamed during the sum- 
mer, that I feared I was going to lose my sight 
entirely. We can judge from this how wise was 
His providence, who detained me from my pros- 
pective India home. I rise quite late, lie down 
a while during the brightest part of the 'day, 
and then retire for the night as early as six. In 
this way, I am enabled to accomplish consider- 
able writing, for my pen I must now rely on for 
support. With such eyes and lungs, to have 
been once told I should have to meet my own 
expenses, would have seemed incredible. But 
God can " temper the wind to the shorn lamb; " 
and, save in depressed hours, which J, of all 
others, should never indulge in, I have faith that 
I " verily shall be fed." I am boarding this 
winter at Mr. C.'s, on Andover Hill, just in the 
rear of the Theological Seminary. I am pleas- 
antly situated, and enough retired to get along 
without any of the drawbacks which my seeing 



218 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

so much company in Boston occasioned. Be- 
sides, Andover is my native place, and I 
exclaimed, when I first came here, " if I can 
write any where, it must be here." I drink in, 
under every variety of sky, the influence of the 
diversified scenery, and feel the springs of a 
young life warm within me. Dear old Andover! 
Like the weary, homesick child, I have come 
back to her bosom, once more. 

My connection with the City Missionary So- 
ciety has been dissolved for some time. You do 
not know what pleasant years those were that I 
spent in its service. I wish you could enjoy 
with me the continued love and gratitude of 
many of those poor people whom it was my 
privilege to aid. When I was taken from them 
so suddenly, it seemed to draw forth all their 
affection; and my heart throbs, when I think of 
the probability of one day seeing some of them, 
at least, once more. Do you not think the 
blessing of the poor one to be coveted ? It is 
very true the world would call me poor myself ; 
but there are times when I feel quite rich, for 
heart's riches are more valuable than any other 
currency, — no money can buy them. And 
they are beyond the fluctuating tide of earthly 
affairs, being, In a subordinate sense, laid up, 
" where neither moth nor rust can corrupt." 



LETTERS. 219 

I have very often reviewed those weeks at 
Hartford, during which I met with you, Miss 
W., and others, that I shall never cease to re- 
member. I suppose the other young ladies have 
written to you. How I should like to overhaul 
your letter budget. What an interesting one it 
must be. Miss Hannah More's letters are to 
me among the most entertaining works I ever 
met. I believe they have educated me into 
fondness for both reading and writing letters. 

I wish I could give you some cheering ac- 
count of the progress of the " inner life." But 
I do not feel that my sickness has prepared me 
for heaven, as I anticipated it would. I find 
that the old road of prayer and Bible reading 
has never been superseded. Sickness may wean 
us from the world, but, alas, not from our sins ! 
As yet I know of no neutral ground where 
Satan allows us to lie down and sleep safely. 
We are in the enemy's country from the cradle 
to the grave, and the sooner we fully believe it 
the better. It is natural to think that the sick 
and suffering disciple is the nearest his Lord. 
Nor is it untrue ; but he is not, because nearer 
his Lord, free from a sinful heart and satanic 
temptation. It was after a season of trial, and 
when weak and least able to meet it, as we 
should think, that our Lord's memorable temp- 



220 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

tation occurred. So we are to watch and pray- 
here, and believe, as we are told in Scripture, 
that the rest rernaineth. 

I have only room to thank you for all your 
kindness to me, for which I must write myself, 
Your obliged, 

Susan M. Underwood. 



. CHAPTER XXII. 

EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 

It is evident that during these days her vary- 
ing health caused many solemn thoughts, and 
she was gathering spiritual resources for the 
uncertain future. Each day some precious 
Scripture was treasured up for time of need, 
and the thoughtful reader will have noticed that 
from day to day her soul was fed, and her spirit 
refreshed by divine truth. The Word of God 
gave shape to her religious feelings, and kept 
the affections of her heart in vigorous exercise. 
Her habit of living on the Scriptures made her 
what she was. 

February 12, 1861, she writes : " For he 
hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, 
that we might be made the righteousness of God 
in him." Dr. N. A. says, " Oh, the awful signifi- 
cance of the expression, 'made him to be sin.' " I 
have fed upon this precious Scripture, and often 
thought, It shall be my pillow when I lie down 
to die. There is such an ocean of fullness 
in that righteousness for our sin-stained souls. 

(221) 



222 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

My view of the passage differs from Dr. A.'s. 
He sees the suffering Saviour in it. I, the 
justified sinner; and while both are true, mine 
is animating, because it comforts, yea, delights 
me. 

February 14. " "Nevertheless, I am contin- 
ually with thee." " Thou shalt guide me with 
thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." 
Strange language for a worm of the dust. Re- 
ceive me to glory ! Ah, how blindly we walk, 
while such gems are beneath our Bible cov- 
ers. There is much help in the thought of 
Christ as a Counselor. My way is hid from 
me, yet he knoweth the way I shall take, and 
if I am his true disciple, will supply my lack of 
wisdom by his own. 

I walked this morning. Oh, such a walk, 
on a road I have never passed over, since I 
rode there with my father, years ago. I noted 
the far-off prospect in the western valley — 
the hazy hill tops — the snow-covered land- 
scape. The air was bracing. I longed to do 
great and noble things, and my heart swelled at 
the possible future. " Dear Andover hills," was 
my heart's unspoken language, " let me live 
and die among you ! " The goodness of God, in 
spreading such a picture before my eyes, touched 
my heart ; and when I returned home, and read 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 223 

the 104th Psalm. I thought it must have been 
after some such sight of Judean hills and vales 
that David was inspired to write it. 

February 15. Walked this morning ; re- 
turned home quite weary, and lay down. Pelt a 
little depressed on discovering my weakness of 
body, but found comfort in my text : " A far more 
exceeding and eternal weight of glory." After- 
ward this shall be for the faithful, therefore will 
I hope on. Luther says, three things make a 
minister : " temptations, afflictions, and prayer." 
I have thought of it a good deal of late. It 
frightens me to think of temptation. I am so 
fearful of falling. It keeps me down, to think 
they are part of our discipline, to the end. I 
will try to think of Him who is able to keep us 
from falling, and to present us faultless before 
the presence of his glory. Oh, wonderful ! 

Monday. Felt depressed all day. Eead a 
passage in Psalms, where it is said, in reference 
to the departure of the Israelites from Egypt, 
" and there was not one feeble person among all 
their tribes," — an earthly type of that heavenly 
community, where the inhabitant shall no more 
say, I am sick. 

In conversation to-day, think I flattered. Oh, 
for such a tongue as may be called a well-spring 
of life ! 



224 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Whatever success may attend my efforts in 
writing, I do not believe I shall ever enjoy the 
peace of mind that I did in those missionary 
days in Boston. The coming in contact of one 
mind with another, in the relation of receiving 
and conferring benefits, enlarges our capacity 
for loving and enjoying. Those who are en- 
gaged most directly in saving souls live above 
the ordinary walk and the storms of earth, which, 
like clouds about the mountain side, reach only 
in part their serene composure. 

Saturday. Went into the bookbindery to 
get my Bogatsky's Golden Treasury, which I 
had left to be re-bound. The bookbinder took a 
great deal of pains with my little book, and called 
it, in golden letters, " the Golden Treasure." 
I let him have his own way, and rather liked 
the new name. His good humor and kindness 
made me happy ! So true is it, that a kindly 
touch in the morning makes the heart vibrate 
sweet music all day. 

Sabbath. Dr. Fisher's sermon at the Jubilee 
meeting was read to me, and I shed tears during 
the reading, it was so thrilling. I felt that 
nothing in the world is so noble as being a mis- 
sionary. 

After retiring, had some thoughts of the 
Friend above all others, which drew me to his 
feet, and there I sweetly fell asleep. 



EXTRACTS FROM R1JR JOURNAL. 225 

Friday. I walked this morning, and on the 
sunny side of a wall, sat down to rest beneath 
an overhanging pine tree. I noticed the sound 
of the wind in the grove near by ; and closing 
my eyes, could readily have believed I was lis- 
tening to the sound of the sea on the shore at 
Coh asset. I thought of Whittier's beautiful 
lines, — 

" And still the pines of Ramoth wood 
Are moaning like the sea ; 
The moaning of the sea of change, 
Between myself and thee." 

To Mrs. 0.: — 

And o veil, March 14, 1861. 

Dear Mrs. C. : How have you been all 
this long winter weather ? Has not the " va- 
cant place "seemed even more "vacant" than 
when Nature, with her thousand charms, tempted 
you abroad ? Bryant says, — 

" If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, 
Go to the woods and hills." 

I know you love this beautiful world, as those 
who have less sensibility can not, and although 
you could never forget your loss, yet diverting 
scenes may deaden that aching sense of it. 
Your letter, full of consolation, reached me at 
Mr. O.'s. Your quotation, " As for God, his 
15 



226 SUSAN ^1. UNDERWOOD. 

way is perfect," was on my mind in days of 
weariness. I think if any body should be called 
the child of Providence, that person is myself. 
There has been sufficient variety in my life to 
make it cheerful, and not enough to render it 
too exciting. Letters from friends, the weekly 
papers and magazines, and an occasional call, 
have contributed to make my stay agreeable. 
Now, in regard to my writing. I have sufficient 
encouragement to make me hope to continue it, 
as a means of support, though I can not say I 
have as yet got fairly under way. 

You will be anxious to learn about my spir- 
itual state. Alas, sickness in and of itself, with- 
out the divine blessing and our own efforts, 
can not sanctify. I confess I had thought other- 
wise. Now I see that it is not merely affliction, 
but sanctified affliction, that makes us " gold 
tried in the fire." The Refiner's eye is needed 
to watch the process, and the Refiner's hand to 
take out the work when it is complete, and 
these make it a blessed thing to pass through 
a furnace " seven times heated." I hope my 
varied discipline will not be lost upon me. 
How solemn the thought, that what fire does 
not melt it hardens. My own religious read- 
ing is chiefly from McCheyne, who helps me 
more than any one. So spiritual, and affec- 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 227 

tionate, and poetical too. What a rare seraph 
he must be in the heavenly choir ! The ac- 
quaintances I am now forming are among the 
choicest people here. I think that is an advan- 
tage not to be lightly esteemed. I feel as if I 
must give something in return ; as though I 
ought to be mentally and spiritually highly 
cultivated. Ah, shall I ever be ? I can try. 
There is something delightful in the thought 
of year by year going on to develop the powers 
of mind God has given me, for though I shall 
never be what I wish, I can hope to improve 
upon what I once was. In using my pen, this 
opportunity will be given, as it could be in 
no other way ; and though bodily infirmity may 
seem a hinderance, it may be that it is the only 
way in which the great Teacher can keep me 
from being a castaway. I never was so poor 
in this world's goods as now, and yet never 
so rich in cultivated and spiritual friendships. 
I have come to the end of my paper, but not 
of my heart. I have only room to write my- 
self very truly yours, 

Susan M. Underwood. 

Miss U. became much interested in an invalid 
who resided near, called often to see her, and 
sympathized not only in her sickness, but in the 



228 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

depression and solicitude which must ever attend 
a sure and gradual descent to the grave. When 
she could no longer see her, she wrote the fol- 
lowing letter : — 

To Miss M. : — 

And oyer, March o, 1861. 

My dear Friend : This is a beautiful, sun- 
shiny morning, and I think of you, and wish 
you were able to go out and enjoy it, as I hope 
to do. But your heavenly Father has seen fit 
to order otherwise. As it is those whom he 
loves that he chastens, you surely need not be 
cast down. Could you hear the voice of that 
blessed Friend saying, " Here is one I love; she 
longs to have health, and long life wherewith 
she may honor me ; she longs to point poor sin- 
ners to my cross. This desire I accept. I love 
her for it, yea,* I have graven her name upon 
the palms of my hands. She shall be in ever- 
lasting remembrance. Therefore, that she may 
know hers is a true faith, I have chosen her to 
glorify me in the fire. Seven times heated shall 
the furnace be, yet will she triumph. She will 
put her hand in mine, and like a little child 
look trustingly up, saying, ' I will fear no evil. 
Thy will be clone.' " Yes, could you hear that 
tender voice speaking thus, would you not be 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 229 

comforted ? I send you " Here and There," 
which you will find easy to hold, and easy to 
read, if you read any thing. Keep it as long as 
it can be of any comfort to you. I am, with 
sympathy, very affectionately, yours, 

S. M. IT. 

To Mrs. E. :— 

March 22, 1861. 

My dear Mrs. R. : How long it is since I 
looked upon your pleasant face ; but I can re- 
call it easily, and am glad that, — 

Though distance may sever, 

It ne'er can control 
The affections that ever 

Reign over the soul. 

Are you enjoying your Litchfield home ? I 
wonder if you have as snowy an outlook as we 
have here. It seems as if the Arctic zone had 
stepped out of its own territories and infringed 
on the limits of its Temperate companion. In 
a glass, on my table, are some delicate pink 
blossoms, that look up gladsomely, as though 
the summer air of this parlor was congenial, and 
beyond that cared nothing. Were they like us 
forecasting mortals, they would say, " Ah, this 
weather is death to us. It is of no use to keep 
our petals open ; we may as well droop and done 
with it." 



230 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Don't you often, when surrounded with health 
and comfort, find your mind dwelling on a 
possible and different future, and anxiously try- 
ing to lay in a store of strength to meet it, and 
then, have not such efforts been as unavailing as 
those of Israel, to lay up an extra store of 
manna ? I suppose the secret of happy Chris- 
tian living, is to seek daily bread, and then 
enjoy it, taking no thought for the morrow, 
that shall spoil the relish of to-day. But I for- 
get that your good husband is a preacher, and 
that sermons are no rarity, except poor ones, 
like mine, and they are not wanted. 

To Miss F. : — 

April, 1861. 

Do you remember Longfellow, in his Psalm 
of Life, says, — 

" Learn to labor, and to wait ? " 

It just occurred to me, I am learning to 
" wait." And may I comfort myself, think you, 
by the assurance, — 

" They also serve, who only stand and wait ?" 

If patient waiting is patient serving, I will be 
content. 

1 have been depressed on account of the war 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 231 

news. In these days, how does it become those 
who know how to pray, to be often on their 
knees. It is because we have forgotten the God 
of our salvation that this evil has come upon us. 

I have this afternoon seen a gold coin that 
belonged to Philip of Macedon. It had been 
buried among the ruins of Tyre for more than 
two thousand years ! Oh, for a poet's pen and 
genius to muse and write over it ! When two 
thousand years shall have passed away, how will 
our lives appear ? What will be their story, or 
will it have faded away ? Doubtless from earth 
it will ; but in the heavenly records we hope 
it will safely abide the changes of the centu- 
ries, and if our faith be not vain, the final con- 
flagration of all things ? " What manner of per- 
sons ought we to be ? " 

Sometimes I do long for the old health and 
the old work. And yet I was troubled often, 
thinking in what a false position I stood. 
So lacking in spiritual mindedness, and yet a 
missionary ! Surely I, who have w T earied with 
the footmen, need not crave to run with the 
horsemen. Do you find your strength equal 
to your day ? The Christian life is such a 
warfare, it seems easy to sit down and fold 
one's hands in despair of ever obtaining the 
victory ; and when, added to this keeping one's 



232 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

own heart from desponding, there is the great 
work of helping others to heaven, it seems im- 
possible. And yet, the way for us to advance 
is to try and help others. It is almost a con- 
dition of our own safety, that we do something 
toward securing that of our brother. So, 
although your work on the one hand looks 
like an impossibility, on the other it looks 
very helpful. We need constantly to keep the 
eye of faith from getting blinded by the glare 
of a deceitful world, so that it can look out 
toward the heavenly hills and enjoy the pros- 
pect. Then our eye affects our heart, and we 
quicken our pace heavenward ; otherwise, we 
become, like Bunyan's man with the rake, ab- 
sorbed in earth, entirely unmindful of the 
crown above us. 

April 29, 1881. She writes in her journal: 
How long it is since I have written in this 
book, yet day unto day hath uttered speech ! 
Mercies have fallen in a ceaseless shower, and 
the heart has felt and lived much. But there 
is to be no writing up of the long story. It 
would be impossible to recall it, and too labo- 
rious to write it if recalled. To-day, then, is 
the theme. And what of to-day ? Awoke after 
a refreshing night's sleep, which encouraged 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 233 

me to hope that I shall once more feel as well 
as I did a fortnight since. It is true, there is 
a strange difficulty about the breathing, and 
at times hardly force enough to speak a word. 
Still, unpleasant as it is, I know there have 
been times when it was worse. Therefore, I 
will not despair of relief. Entire recovery 
I have now no hope of. I find myself estimat- 
ing the length of the sickness of some of my 
friends, and with one I remember the term was 
six years. I shrink ! I ought not to fear. The end 
came to them, in due time. It will to me. But 
this one thing I desire : I want to honor Him, 
whom I hope I serve, more in sickness than I 
have in health, by my cheerfulness, and entire 
freedom from murmurs, as pin by pin the tab- 
ernacle is being taken down. I would show 
that faith in the Lord Jesus Christ is a reality, 
that makes weak mortals triumph, even in the 
fires. I know this is possible. I know it would 
honor the Author of my salvation. I know it 
would win assent to the efficacy of divine con- 
solations. Why, then, may I not confidently 
believe my desire will be granted ? I would 
have my sick room a pleasant place, from which 
none would go empty away. Lord, grant this 
to thy weak servant. To thee shall be all the 
glory. 



234: SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

May 1. And so it is May day again. Last 
year I was confined to my chamber, and to-day 
I am resting on my oars. Ah, shall I ever row 
again ? I am thinking it doubtful. My poor 
lungs are certainly in a very precarious condi-. 
tion. " But He kiioweth our frame." What 
has a justified sinner to mourn over, when his 
great Advocate is pleading his case ? 

Have done nothing to-day. Lord give me pa- 
tience, and have thou patience with me. 

May 2. A day long to be remembered ! 
Sent for Dr. Kimball, and he has examined my 
lungs. He informs me that tubercles are al- 
ready formed. It has, then, come to this ! 1 
returned to my room, and for a while a tide of 
feeling swept over me. The descent to the 
grave seemed so certain and so near ! Yet the 
thought of " Him who keepeth Israel, who never 
slumbers nor sleeps," brought peace. That was 
one of the texts for to-day. I had long sus- 
pected disease in the right lung, but had never 
succeeded in getting it thoroughly examined. 
Now it has been done, I think I am prepared 
for the result. Yet it is a solemn thing to 
walk slowly but surely to the grave, with it al- 
most in sight. 

I feel a strong desire to write to Mr. Thomp- 
son to-day, and tell him the Master, whom he 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 235 

taught me to serve, does not fail his servant in 
her extremity. These are test hours to the 
believer. " Lord, I believe, help thou mine un- 
belief." 

May 4. Have been to walk to-day. The 
wind east, and the sky cloudy. Peel, on the 
whole, better. Cough but little. Text to-day, 
on the intercession of Christ. " I have prayed 
for thee, that thy faith fail not." McCheyne 
says on this, " If we could hear Christ praying 
for us, in the next room, of what should we be 
afraid ? " It is not in the next room, but, blessed 
thought, even nearer, just within the vail. The 
family are all very thoughtful for me since they 
have learned the extent of my disease. Oh, 
for a gentle, cheerful spirit, that may reward 
them daily, by making them the happier. 

Sabbath, Was permitted the great privilege 
of going up once more with those that keep holy 
day. Professor B. preached from the text, 
" To him that overcometh, will I give to eat of 
the hidden manna." The hidden manna, Christ. 
The sermon was eminently spiritual. I felt that 
it was good to be there. 

Only two more short records are made in her 
journal. In the last she mentions a call from 
some friends, and writes, " They brought me 



236 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 



She was probably interrupted — the sen- 



tence will never be finished. 

The progress of her sickness, and the state of 
her mind, can be learned only from her letters. 

To Miss J. B. F. : — 

Andoyer, May 21, 1861. 

My dear Friend: About three weeks ago, 
when the physician examined my lungs, I asked 
him if the disease was a recent thing. He 
thought not. He gives me no hope of recovery, 
but thinks, as my constitution is unusually vig- 
orous, I may keep about as I am for some time. 
. . . Had you thought that in those days when 
you heard nothing from me, your friend was 
looking at the dark grave as very near ? I can 
never be well. There was something positive 
in it. There was an hour or two of heart sink- 
ing, and then, I trust, the heart turned to the 
Mighty One, and met, in his strength, the solemn 
truth. Since then I have been as cheerful as I 
was before, indeed, even more so. 

At times, my pecuniary affairs harass me, 
but thus far I have kept my head, or rather my 
head has been kept, above water, in regard to 
debt. ... If it were not for the Bible and prayer, 
I should certainly sink. My dear friend, you 
do not yet know the mystery of that wonderful 



EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNAL. 237 

faith, of which holy men of old wrote, as they 
were moved ; unless you have been brought, as 
I think I have been, at times, to trust only in 
Christ. 

My discipline has been peculiar. I seem to be 
called to test the value of the lessons I have tried 
to teach others. I have told them what prom- 
ises such and such trials had, and now I am 
brought to those trials — comforted by those 
promises. 

S. M. TL 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

HER LAST DAYS. 

No one comes at once into an established 
Christian character. Young people often wish 
they were active Christians, but are impatient 
of the process by which they are to become so. 
Our Saviour says, " first the blade, then the 
ear, after that the full corn in the ear." So 
with Susan. In Newton, her thoughts were 
first turned to the subject of religion, — then 
appeared the tender " blade." In Roxbury, she 
gave her mind more intently to religious in- 
struction. Here she came out from the world, 
and began her appointed work — then was seen 
" the ear ; " and in her subsequent missionary 
work in Boston was seen " the full corn in the 
ear." 

In her we see how important it is for older 
Christians to help forward the young, the timid, 
the faltering ; perhaps we should say especially, 
those who are not particularly prepossessing in 
appearance, if there is a desire for improve- 
ment and usefulness. Who of Miss Under- 

(238) 



HER LAST DAYS. 239 

wood's friends, in her early life, anticipated for 
her so beautiful a development of mind and 
Christian character ? 

We have now only to record the close of the 
earthly course of a disciple made meet for an 
inheritance among the saints in light. 

In June she came to Boston, intending to go 
to Hingham, but her failing health prevented, 
as will be seen by the following note : — 

Boston, June 19, 1861. 

My dear Friend : I am going, Providence 
permitting, to Andover to-day ; not to Hing- 
ham, as I wrote you. Hingham is too cold. I 
fail every day, and I must run away from these 
cold winds. I am unable to talk much, and 
Andover is the only place where I can be really 
quiet ; so I go there. I have not been to Hing- 
ham for a year and a half. I have many friends 
there, whom I would like to see, but it would 
be too great a tax upon, my strength. The air 
is even cold to-day. I am not in a fit condi- 
tion to make any effort. Quiet, good air, and 
regularity in every thing I must have. The 
pins of the tabernacle are loosening, but have 
we not a house above, not made with hands, 
eternal in the heavens ? Your friend, 

S. M. U. 



240 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

To Miss H. W. : — 

June 22, 18G1. 

. . . And how about the soul's health ? you 
are ready to ask. I have learned much in 
these years of the loving kindness of our God, 
and much of a heart that is deceitful above all 
things, and desperately wicked. But I do not 
find sickness favorable to growth in grace. I 
used to think that when the head winds of 
worldly temptation died away, and the soul 
was less burdened with cares, her full sails 
would speed homeward. Yet I find the enemy 
and my evil heart know how to stir up mutinies 
on board. What should we do were it not 
revealed that He who brought us into the king- 
dom will keep us through faith unto salvation ? 
Most precious is this old 'doctrine of the per- 
severance of the saints ; yet I hesitate at that 
expression, " saints." I like better that defini- 
tion of Christian given by one of the Edwardses, 
who describes the difference between the world- 
ling and the Christian, by saying that one was 
an impenitent and the other a penitent sinner. 
It is pleasant to think that Christ loves us for 
what we shall be, when these defiled fleshly gar- 
ments are exchanged for .the white robe. And 
I love to pray for the unrenewed among my 
loved ones, thinking of what they may be when 



HER LAST DAYS. 241 

regenerated, even vessels of honor fit for the 
Master's use. 

The missionary allusion in the following let- 
ter will interest all who love to offer the prayer, 
" Thy kingdom come." 

To Mrs. H.: — 

Andover, July 1, 1861. 

My dear Friend : As I lay on the sofa the 
other day, feeble and depressed on account of 
my own temporal condition and that of some 
dear friends, I caught sight, through the open 
window, of a robin in the apple tree, looking 
into the parlor. The passage about God's care, 
even of the sparrow, and the question of the 
Saviour, " Are ye not much better than they ? " 
recurred to my mind with pleasing force. A 
few minutes after came a letter from Miss F., 
containing a bank note from Mr. M., and an- 
other from — she did not say who — but I knew 
it must be you. What a pleasant commentary 
on little robin's sermon ! 

I thank you much, both for the gift, and the 
delicacy with which it was offered. 

With regard to Mrs. S.'s death, which you 
thought so mysterious at such a place, let me 
send you this word of McOheyne : " God knows 
16 



242 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

best where the alabaster vase shall be bro- 
ken." 

I thank you for the reading of those letters 
(from India). I do not think I could have 
summoned force to write you now, had it not 
been for this opportunity to return them, for I 
have been very, very feeble ever since my re- 
turn. I find it does not take threescore-and- 
ten to make the grasshopper a burden. 

The letters had a peculiar interest to me, for 
my heart owns a tie to the boarding school at 
Madura as lasting as life. 

It seems affecting that, as earthly interests 
loosen their hold, my mind should be quickened 
in regard to this my once anticipated mission- 
ary home. 

Thank Dr. H. for calling. He is not the one 
I should have wished to do so when I was sleep- 
ing. But he who numbers the hairs of our 
heads ordered it all. 

To Mrs. B, : — 

Andovek, July 5, 1861. 

My dear Mrs. B. : ... I have never felt 
so near 

•« the bound of life 
Where we lay our burdens down," 

as during the last fortnight, and never ? I am 



HER LAST DAYS. 243 

sorry to say, had a week of so little cheerful- 
ness and patience. 

Ah ? we think we can go through the fires, 
and they will not burn us, for have we not 
faith ? We think we have grace enough to 
carry us into deeper waters than others go 
in. But the Lord rebukes our self-sufficiency. 
He lets us test our own strength, and when, 
like Peter, we are sinking, holds out his hand, 
saying, " thou of little faith, wherefore, 
didst thou doubt ? " 

Thus have I been walking under a cloud, 
panting and restless, simply existing. Can it 
be this is to be a type of my walk down to the 
grave ? Pray for me with all your heart, that I 
may not now in sickness dishonor the Saviour I 
professed to love in health. I feel as though I 
could plead with Moses, " for thine own name's 
sake." 

Friends here are very thoughtful of my hap- 
piness. Such delightful rides, in one of the 
easiest of carriages ; strawberries, elegant flow- 
ers, oranges, apples, books, and all in such a 
beautiful spirit, as though I was conferring in- 
stead of receiving favors ! I can't begin to tell 
how my " Mercy Book" catalogue runs up. 

She kept a book, with the title of " Mercy 



244 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

Book," in which she recorded, from day to day, 
the many favors she received, the many pleas- 
ures she enjoyed. Her heart was so susceptible 
to emotions of gratitude that sometimes even a 
cheering smile from a friend was spoken of as 
a token of mercy from a Father's hand. 

To Mrs. J. N. D.: — 

Andoyer, July 19, 1861. 

My dear Friend : Your poor Susan has been, 
is, very, very feeble ; — did you know it ? Your 
affectionate and welcome letter reached me on 
one of my sickest days. Ah, such a month as 
this last has been ! I hare felt as though I 
was somebody else. I could enjoy no earthly 
thing. Books, friends, Nature, with her thou- 
sand charms, had lost their charm for me, and 
I have simply lived, trying to find an easy posi- 
tion, or a cool one. To leave my chair, and 
go to the table for something, has been as 
much of an effort as it once was to walk a 
mile. I have no appetite; my throat is often 
parched, and my hands so hot, they feel as if 
fire was raging through them. It is seldom I 
am able to see friends, and I can bear only a 
little reading aloud. And now, in the midst of 
these deep waters, do you wish to know if my 
feet find the Rock ? Yes, though weak and 



HER LAST DAYS. 245 

trembling, I trust they are on it. My " Daily 
Food " is a great comfort. I can look up and 
find rest in Him, who having loved his own, 
loved them unto' the end. I lay my weary soul 
at his feet. There is no high state of spiritual 
enjoyment, but that confidence which we are 
told, — humble grace though it seems, — has 
great recompense of reward. 

Sunday last was a rare day of relief. Some- 
body had been praying for me I know. I want 
my friends to pray that I may be cheerful. I 
am naturally desponding. Oh, to gain the vic- 
tory, and be cheerful in these days when the 
storm is high and the thunder loud ! Friends 
here are very kind. 

To her Brother : — 

And over, Mass., July 29, 1861. 

Your sick sister has not forgotten you if she 
has not written. Oh, you don't know what a 
longing I have to go home and have mother 
nurse me up. I lie awake, trying to devise 
some way in which I might get home in safety, 
but I am so weak that it is a great effort to go 
from room to room, and there is nothing to 
build on except the milk I drink morning and 
night. I feel so for mother ; it must be such a 
disappointment to her ; but she can not want me 



246 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

more than I have wanted to go. Is your cough 
quite cured ? I am anxious to know. Do be 
careful of your health. Avoid hurries, — the 
crowding of many things into too small a space 
of time. It is the strain, not the amount of 
labor, that kills, — the overtasking the body 
and hurrying it. 

My dear brother, what do you think would 
become of me now if I had nothing to look for- 
ward to beyond the grave ? As I lie awake 
suffering, and knowing this fearful disease is 
gaining on me, what could I do if I had not a 
prospect beyond ? 

As it is, I am not afraid to die. Christ is a 
living reality, and heaven as real as any earthly 
city. I feel now as if I shall be very glad to 
go. Not that I don't love you all, but I can do 
nothing for your happiness now. I know you 
do not wish me to stay simply to suffer. I hope 
.1 shall be patient. Such diseases as mine are 
sometimes, yes, often very long in their winding 
up ; and it may be that long months of suffering 
await me before I am released. But remember, 
whatever I suffer, I do not cease to pray for you, 
that you may know the Lord Jesus Christ. 
Oh, he is a blessed master to serve ! Those 
who abide under the shadow of his wing have 
a sweet resting-place. 



HER LAST DAYS. 247 

It is quite an effort for me to write a letter, 
and yon see how my penmanship alters. 

Extracts from notes during her last sick- 
ness : — 

August 3. 

My dear Mrs. D. : I write this excessively 
warm day, because I fear I may not have 
strength when I want to. I feel a crisis has 
come with me. This is a time of the roaring 
of the billows. Truly, my soul waiteth on God. 
I may linger along some time, but it hardly 
seems probable. Write to me? Yes, my pre- 
cious friend, till my feet are touching Jordan. 

At another time : — 

Pray for me, that if it be the Lord's will that 
I go home, special strength be given me. Rev. 
Dr. Bt. has just been here, and talked and 
prayed with me in the language of a son of * 
consolation. I am quite lifted up. 

"X'U go or stay, 
Nor fear to die, 
Till from on high 
He call me home." 

The following note is probably the last 
she ever wrote ; and although her writing was 



248 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

usually in a fair, good hand, this showed pain- 
fully her weakness, as it was scarcely legible : — - 

Andover, August 8, 1861. 

My dear J. : Lying entirely prostrate upon 
my bed, I make the attempt to write you a 
line. I am having a quiet hour from pain or 
coughing. I wish you could* come in and see 
me. I. have a very pleasant room. You know 
I keep my bed mostly, but I think I may linger 
along several months. I do not think my end 
is very near. My mother can not come to 
me, nor I go to her ; but it is the Lord's will, 
and the Lord's will be done. Friends are very 
kind. Oranges, ice-creams, peaches, wines, and 
I know not how many things, are brought me. 

My mind is at peace. This may be my last 
letter. The promises are yea and amen thus 
far. Susan. 

* Write to me. 

She was confined to her room, and mostly to 
her bed, for ten days. Passing over these, let 
us briefly glance at the closing scene. 

" Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose 
mind is stayed on thee." Such a promise to 
those who believe it, is truly a light shining 




HER LAST DAYS. 249 



from heaven. Was it not to Miss Underwood ? 
And was not the prayer, offered months before, 
while a city missionary, signally answered in 
the dark valley ? A long suffering decline was 
before her ; wearisome days and nights in antici- 
pation, and, to her practical mind, attendant 
expenses, could not be kept out of sight. But, 
with the same spirit that led her first to give 
herself to God, and resolve to glorify him by 
an active Christian life, she now sought most 
earnestly to exhibit cheerful submission, and to 
glorify him in suffering. The fear of death 
was taken away. Heaven, with its waiting man- 
sions, had so long been regarded as the " final 
home," that the intervening days were the only 
source of solicitude. 

She had requested, if death seemed near, to 
be informed ; and, probably to her surprise, on 
the evening of the 13th, her nurse told her that 
she thought her time was short. She asked 
to be bolstered up in bed, and to have pencil 
and paper brought to her. With great calm- 
ness she began to write directions respecting 
her funeral, and to appropriate gifts to friends. 
When her hand could no longer write, she gave 
the pencil and paper to the nurse, and finished 
by dictation all her earthly plans and wishes, 
requesting that a messenger be sent speedily for 



250 SUSAN M. UNDERWOOD. 

her mother. She then closed her eyes, and for 
a time was lost in sleep. Suddenly awaking, 
she said, with animation, " This poor sinner has 
had the evidence that she has not lived and 
labored in vain ; " then, lifting her hands, said, 
" I see them ! I see them ! " and the spirit was 
gone. 

Her testimony to the all-sufficiency of her 
Saviour was not put off to the last, and she 
needed not then to repeat her previous witness 
to his power and grace. 

She fell asleep in Jesus on the morning of 
August 14, 1861. 

" A stone of memorial " was a frequent and 
favorite expression with her. Shall not surviving 
friends set up such a stone, and make mention of 
the loving kindness of the Lord ? Those days of 
suffering were shortened ; patience and cheerful 
submission granted ; and those dreaded ex- 
penses were all previously provided for ; — so that 
when she made her last financial reckoning, she 
found that her heavenly Father had more than 
supplied all her need. Let those who walk in 
darkness, behold this " stone of memorial," and 
believe that God will uever leave nor forsake 
those who put their trust in him. 

( RD 41 , 











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